


We Could Be Heroes

by Galen_Wordwyrm



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alien Invasion, Aliens Made Them Do It, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Twins, Angst, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Bad Puns, Bi-Curiosity, Bisexual Disaster Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Cat Puns, Chloé Bourgeois Character Study, Chloé Bourgeois Redemption, Chloé Bourgeois-centric, Conversations, Depression, F/F, F/M, False Memories, Hot Mess Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Kwami Swap, Late Night Conversations, Lesbian Chloé Bourgeois, Memories, Miraculous Holder Chloé Bourgeois, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Chloé Bourgeois, Puns & Word Play, References to Depression, Strong Marinette Dupain-Cheng
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:59:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 36,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26457559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galen_Wordwyrm/pseuds/Galen_Wordwyrm
Summary: Reality is unchangeable. Or is it?Memories can be trusted. But should they be?Fate and Destiny are inescapable. Or are they?*-*-*What starts as the very worst day in Chloé Bourgeois' life becomes something even more impossible.And potentially Miraculous.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Alya Césaire, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Chloé Bourgeois, Chloé Bourgeois & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Chloé Bourgeois & Plagg, Chloé Bourgeois/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Chloé Bourgeois/Sabrina Raincomprix
Comments: 49
Kudos: 146





	1. The Fallen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SRFirefox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SRFirefox/gifts).



> While I say this is a gift to SRFirefox, they are also my co-conspirator.
> 
> Really suggest you pay attention to the tags.
> 
> Now, let's go have some fun...

The winds on the rooftop of Le Grand Paris Hotel whipped around Chloe as she growled, straining, lifting, and heaved her treasured custom-made Bee Signal over the parapet to impact and shatter on the pavement six floors below, bowing her head, lower lip quivering in anger-fueled self-pity.

Footsteps behind her.

Silver mask gleaming in the sun, supremely, smugly self-confident in his resplendent aubergine silk suit, Papillion smiled. “Chloe Bourgeois, rejections hurt!” 

Chloe turned to face him, her back to the edge of the roof, tears threatening in the corners of her eyes, blonde ponytail blowing in the breeze. 

“Your talents deserve to be recognized!”, the villain taunted. “Ladybug and Chat Noir's reign has gone on long enough, it's time for Paris to have a new queen and the Queen Bee on my chessboard is you.”

Chloe bristled, voice trembling. “You've akumatized my parents! If I had my Miraculous I'd—”

“You're right”, Papillion admitted, raising a hand to interrupt her. “But I did it for one reason only. So that you would finally realize that Ladybug will never give you the Bee Miraculous again. I, however, always keep my promises.” Papillion reached behind the left breast of his suit jacket, retrieving something, then opened his hand, revealing the golden comb of the Bee Miraculous.

“This isn't real! How do you have it?”, Chloé gasped in shock.

Papillion’s thin smile, nefarious and ingratiating. “Try it and see for yourself”, he replied, dodging the question. “You're Ladybug's greatest fan. You've helped her, you've trusted her, and what has she done for you in return?”

“Nothing!”, Chloé snapped. “She couldn't care less about me! I'm done with her. She's irrelevant, utterly irrelevant!” The young heiress reached out, trembling, to lift the offered Miraculous from Papillion's gloved hand, pausing. “I want you to deakumatize has my parents first!”

“Whatever you say, my queen”, Papillion chuckled indulgently. It was all going marvellously according to plan. The young Bourgeois girl had always been exceptionally easy to bait and manipulate.

Chloe took the comb and put it in her hair, releasing the kwami, Pollen.

“Your majesty, wait! Remember! Please!!”, the diminutive yellow spirit urged.

Pale blue eyes swiftly appraised the villain standing expectantly before Chloé. Memories flickered, emotions flashing over her face.

“You need my help…”, Chloé muttered, eyes darting, searching, evaluating.

“Yes, that’s why I‘m here!”, Papillion snapped. “Transform! Become Queen Bee! Exact your well-earned revenge!”

“You hurt people. You want me to hurt people for you”, Chloé growled. “You have the same utterly ridiculous plan to steal Ladybug’s and Chat's Miraculous’! And you need my help!”

“Yes!!”, Papillion almost howled in frustration. “And every second you waste is another chance for those two brats to foil our plans! Now do as I command and transform!”

Chloé grimaced, a lance of pain as a headache blossomed suddenly behind her eyes. “You're as bad as my mother.” She took a step backwards. “You demand, and threaten, and order, and use people! You don’t care who you hurt, or what happens to them.”

“What?” A note of confusion crept into Papillion's voice.

“This isn't right”, Chloé muttered to herself, temples throbbing. “She trusted me. We were a team. We were… we were…”

Memories of blue eyes. Smiling. Laughing. Tired. Hurt. Scared. 

Those blue eyes. Her blue eyes. Like perfect dark sapphires.

“What are you saying?! You're Queen Bee, and you’ll be my Miracle Queen!”, Papillion boasted. 

“… No …” Quiet defiance.

“Do as you’re told! Transform!”

“No!”, Chloé screamed. “You need me! You want me to… to… no!! I’m…no!! You need me! I’m part of your plan! Ahhh!!” Another stab of pain.

It never hurt before. When she accepted Papillion's offer.

Before? 

Had she already done this? Was that why it felt so wrong this time? 

Another step backward, faltering, shaky, the lipped edge of the parapet against the back of her leg.

“I can stop you.”

“Stop being a stupid little girl! Do as you’re told!”, Papillion hissed.

Stumbling, Chloé backed up onto the wide ledge of parapet, frowning at Papillion. 

“Get down immediately! Play your part! Become Queen Bee!”

“If I transform, you win. Ahhh!!” The pain almost brought Chloé to her knees.

“Don’t do this! We can win!”

“I’m so sorry, Pollen…”, Chloé whispered, then took one more small step backwards, into the void.

*-*-*

Chloé bolted upright in her bed, the scream dying on her lips had the same note as the clock-radio blaring on her bedside table. She silenced it with a touch born of reflex.

Again the same horrific nightmare. The one that brought a blinding headache along for company. How many nights in a row was this? Ten? More?

Blinking blearily, Chloé looked around her room. The same four walls, water-stained plaster ceiling, a cheaply-curtained window looking out from the second floor to the street from the rundown two-up/two-down rental row-house, the rippled, dated, and badly hung wallpaper surrounding the same second-hand bunk beds she and her brother had slept in since they were kids.

Wait. That was wrong. It was all wrong. She should be in her room in the hotel. 

And she was an only child.

The frame-and-panel door to her room squealed open, her brother slouched in from the hallway with it's threadbare carpet, barefoot, wearing baggy grey track pants and a new-ish black tee-shirt.

“Bad dreams again?”

“Adrien?!”

“Uh, yeah? Who were you expecting? Your street-magician supermodel idol Felix?”

“Felix is your cousin!”

Adrien put the back of a cool hand to Chloé’s forehead, green eyes peering at her. “You feeling alright, sis?”

Chloé pushed his hand away. “Since when are you my brother?!”

Adrien grinned. “Uh, since we were born? Twins, remember?”

“We’re twins?!”

“Okay, this isn't funny anymore. Get your skinny butt out of bed, and get dressed. Dad has breakfast ready downstairs. If you don’t hurry were going to be late. Again!” Adrien busied himself getting ready for the day, pulling clothes out of a chest of drawers that looked decades old. 

Chloé scrambled out of bed, pulling the closet accordion door aside with a protesting rattle. “Where are all my clothes?!”, she demanded.

Adrien shrugged. “It was your turn to do laundry. The stuff you wore yesterday should be okay.”

“But my designer—“

“Designer?”, Adrien laughed, cutting Chloé off. “Since when do we afford designer clothes for you on dad's cop salary? C'mon, quit messing around and get ready.”

Chloé glanced at her clock-radio, cursed quietly and bolted for the cramped, out-dated bathroom, rushing through her shower and morning routine, long blonde hair pulled back in a neat-ish ponytail. Yesterdays clothes turned out to be a pair of jeans with the knees actually worn out instead of artfully distressed, and a black scoop-neck cotton tee-shirt under a mustard yellow hoodie.

P’tit dej consisted of a day-old supermarket croissant smeared with strawberry preserves and a gulp of luke-warm coffee as daddy shrugged into his ballistic panel lined duty jacket while kissing the top of Chloé’s head and instructing Adrien to behave as he departed, then hurrying out the door and shuffling along the street under a blustery grey sky, clouds scudding before a chill south-westerly breeze, Adrien pocketing his copy of the latch-key.

Chloé shivered under her inadequate hoodie as they scurried down the avenue, school bag slung over her shoulder. The entire situation was bizarre, utterly, utterly ridiculous. She should be riding in a limo to school, not walking like a peasant!

“Did you at least finish Sabrina's assignments like she told you to?” Adrien's question cut through the tangle of her confusion.

“Huh?”

A long-suffering sigh from her twin. “You know how impossible she gets when you forget to follow her orders. God, why do you let her push you around like that?”

“But— I’m her only friend!” Chloé protested in shock.

“You don’t actually believe that garbage, do you? You've been under her thumb since you started school. Stand up to her this year! Make some new friends”, Adrien suggested, annoyed. The school bell rang in the distance. “Merde! First bell already! Now we're definitely gonna be late!”

*-*-*

“How very kind of you to join us this morning", Madame DuPain-Cheng smiled ironically as Adrien and Chloé slunk into the room. “Late two days in a row at the start of term is hardly a good example, is it? Find a seat and we'll take attendance and begin.”

“Yes, Madame, won’t happen again", Adrien nodded, embarrassed, taking a seat beside his best friend, Kim.

Chloé scanned the room, discovering her usual seat at the front of the class occupied by Sabrina, who sat next to Alya Césaire of all people, giggling as they flicked a glance in her direction in a shared private joke. Sabrina, dressed in the latest designer clothes.

“Did you bring our project, Chloé?”, Sabrina demanded with a haughty tone, as the blonde slid onto the bench beside Marinette DuPain-Cheng, who glanced at her indifferently.

“Uhh, I slept in. Forgot it in the rush", Chloé mumbled, cheeks flaming. What the hell was going on?!

“Do better tomorrow then", Sabrina condescended.

“God, can this day get any worse?”, Chloé muttered, mostly to herself.

Marinette scowled. “Yeah, well, having my mom as homeroom teacher wasn’t on my bingo card either. I was hoping for Damocles, but he retired and opened a used book store, remember?”

“Tell me you at least brought some macarons, DuPain-Cheng…”, Chloé complained.

“Why? Just because our fathers work together, that doesn’t make us friends. Besides, you want pastries, you talk to Spooky.” Marinette pointed in the direction of an extravagant confection of black lace, satin, and tulle topped by an elaborate shimmering mane of black curls shading to brilliant violet ombre at the tips.

“Juleka is the baker girl?!”

“Are we quite finished interrupting, Mademoiselle Bourgeois?”, Marinette's mother inquired pointedly.

Every eye in the room was on Chloé, who groaned, mortified, and slid down in her seat, wishing nothing more than for the floor to open up and drop her into hell, which would be an improvement in her opinion.

“As I was saying before I was interrupted, we have two new students joining us today. Please welcome Felix Agreste and his sister, Rose. I expect you to be on your best behavior, class, as Felix and Rose have been home-schooled by private tutors, and this is their first term in a public school.”

The class cheerfully rumbled greetings, and people shuffled to make room for the newcomers. Sabrina immediately claimed Felix, pulling him onto the bench beside her, an act which made Alya frown behind her glasses. Rose settled in meekly beside Juleka, but shied away as far as possible, deterred by the lurid goth attire. Juleka grinned and offered the timid girl a cookie shaped and decorated to look like a Mexican muerte skull from a purple pasteboard box trimmed with white lace, shaped like a coffin.

Chloé only paid partial attention to the explanation of the upcoming term and the days schedule, her mind a whirl of conflict, distraction, and confusion. Which probably explains shy she didn’t hear her name being called.

“Mademoiselle Bourgeois!”

“What?!”, Chloé snapped irritably.

Piercing brown eyes glared at Chloé. “I was dismissing the class to attend either Phys Ed or Mathematics, according to their schedules, but you, Chloé Bourgeois, are on your way to the principal’s office!”, Madame DuPain-Cheng ordered, pointing out the door.

“Way to go, Chloé…”, Adrien muttered sympathetically as she rose from her seat and made her way down the broad stepped aisle.

Chloé rolled her eyes and ‘tch'-ed in frustration, grumbling to herself as she left the room and made her way to the administration area, knocking on the door of the principal.

“Come in", sang the clear, familiar alto voice.

‘It couldn’t be…’, Chloé thought to herself as she opened the door.

It was. But it wasn’t.

The face was Madame Caline Bustier, dressed in her signature white suit and mint blouse, auburn hair in a neat bun impaled sideways with a spare pencil. The nameplate on the edge of the desk read ‘Mme. Raincomprix'.

“This is wrong! It’s all wrong!”, Chloé whined. 

“Why don’t you come and sit down and tell me why you were sent to my office?”, Madame Raincomprix suggested, smiling gently.

Chloé slumped into one of the chairs in front of the tidy classic wooden office desk. “Nothing has been going right since I woke up. I…I’m out of place. I don’t belong here…”

Caline Bustier, no, Madame Raincomprix, Chloé reminded herself, sighed, rubbing at her temple with one hand. “It’s Sabrina, isn’t it? Already abusing her boundaries. I told Roger we needed to be more firm with her—”

“No, Madame Bust—I mean, Madame Raincomprix, Sabrina is fine. She’s…fine”, Chloé protested nervously. “It’s me. I’m…I’m messed up. It’s all confused! It’s these dreams I've been having for weeks. I'm…I’m not sleeping well, and I’m…I'm not…” Chloé limply waved a hand in frustration, unable to express what she was feeling, what she was experiencing.

Honest green eyes gazed at Chloé, assessing without judging. “It’s been, hmm, two years since your mom…?”

Chloé looked away, staring at the floor, arms wrapped around herself, defensive. “I don’t wanna talk about my mother, ‘k?”

Madame Raincomprix nodded, hands together on the desk, fingers interlaced. “Alright. So I'm going to conclude your recent sleep issues and moodiness are why you’re here.”

Chloé nodded, downcast, blonde ponytail bobbing. “Yeah. Probably.”

“Do you think counselling might help?”

“I don’t need counselling!”, Chloé snapped. “I need to—” She cut herself off, a whisper of memory, of falling, the flash of sapphire eyes…

She closed her eyes. She was so tired. 

“I don’t belong here", Chloé whispered. 

“Do you need to go home, Chloé?”

A bark of derisive laugher. “I don’t even know what home is anymore…”

“Chloé?”

The distraught blonde flicked an irritated glance at the principal. 

“Chloé, I’m not an expert, believe me", the woman Chloé knew as Caline Bustier said quietly, “But I think you're probably dealing with depression, and still processing your mother's passing. I’m going to excuse you for the day, and send an email to your father recommending that you get counselling and maybe some medication, alright?” 

“Alright", Chloé agreed in a small voice.

Madame Raincomprix pulled a pad of paper from a desk drawer, writing on it for a moment. “Here’s a hall pass excusing you for the day. I’d like you to check in with me first thing tomorrow morning.” She tore the page loose, handing it across the desk to Chloé.

Chloé sullenly tucked the folded note into the pocket of her yellow hoodie. “ ‘K…”

Impact rocked the school, the sound of falling masonry.

Chloé paled. The beginning of the school year. She should have remembered.

“Oh, no. No. Not again…”

Madame Raincomprix was speaking firmly into the handset of the phone on her desk, issuing orders to evacuate in a calm voice. The school's alarm klaxons blaring, warning strobes flashing in the hallways and over doors.

“Get out of here, Chloé! Now! You know where the rally point is.” 

Chloé nodded, frantic. “The carousel in the park.”

“Go!”

Chloé darted out of Madame Raincomprix’s office, bobbing and dodging through the surge of students that flooded the hallways, pouring out the emergency exits. She had to find Adrien.


	2. The Phoenix

Confusion. Chaos. Students of Collège Françoise Dupont clustered and milled about on the broad sidewalk in front of the school, filtering in the direction of the carousel in Place de Vosges, blocking the street, irritating and annoying drivers who would have to brake repeatedly as another knot of skittish adolescents would dart across traffic with almost no warning. Very quickly the surrounding thoroughfares became a congested tangle of vehicles with blaring horns and revving, racing engines, going nowhere in a great hurry under the leaden sky.

Blonde ponytail swaying as she bobbed and sidestepped in the crowd, phone in hand, Chloé Bourgeois wasn’t shy about treading on insteps or jabbing with her elbows to make a space for herself as she made her way in the general direction of the emergency rally point, working her way along the edge of the sidewalk.

A glint of watery light on the silver bodywork of a beautifully restored classic 1967 Citroën DS caught Chloé’s attention as it glided up to the curb, rear door swinging open, a distressingly familiar brass-blonde bob hairstyle shifting forward to lean out the door, cordially summoning Felix Agreste to get into the vehicle, the door snapping shut, before accelerating forward, swerving out into busy traffic, unheedful of the bearded older gentleman in a brown overcoat moving with the aid of a walking stick, who had been picking his way across the street in the stalled traffic.

Chloé reached out, pulling on the elder's arm, yanking him out of the path of the lunging vehicle with a yelp of warning, before finding herself pinned to the pavement as they both fell, knocking the wind out of Chloé.

“Thank you, very much, young lady", the grey-haired gentleman grumbled as he stiffly got up, relieving the uncomfortable pressure on Chloé’s ribcage, offering her a hand up. “Very kind of you.”

“Yeah… Cool... Anytime…”, Chloé wheezed, lightheaded. “ ’Scuse me. Gotta…find my brother…”

Across the congested street, past the renamed bakery, into the disorganized press of the crowd, searching for the one person she could depend on, examining faces as they passed, seeking out her classmates, calling for Adrien, panic creeping into her voice. Where was he?!

Concerned, Chloé dialed his phone number several times, receiving an ‘out of service' message that added to her apprehension.

There! A familiar if unwelcome face.

The towering bulk of Ivan, awkwardly embracing the zaftig petite form of corn-row-maned Mylène.

No. This wasn’t right. 

Ivan was supposed to be Stoneheart. She remembered teasing him before his second akumatized transformation.

Confused, hell, baffled, Chloé tried to act casual as she made her way over to the young couple. 

“Uhh, hey, have you guys seen Adrien?”, the pretty blonde inquired when she was close enough to be heard over the general chaos. 

Ivan nodded, while Mylène answered. “I was sitting two rows away when it happened", she shivered. “He read a note Kim slipped him in homeroom after you were sent to the office. I don’t know what the note said, but right after he read it, he turned into this giant stone monster with glowing green eyes and smashed right through the wall!”

Any moment now, Ladybug and Chat Noir would be making their first appearance, battling Stoneheart. She couldn't let Adrikins get hurt!

“No, no, no, no, no!”, Chloé protested, stamping a foot. “God, this is all messed up!” Scared and frustrated, distracted, she jumped when someone tapped her shoulder and called her name.

Spinning around, defensive, Chloé glared at Marinette's mother.

“Good. You’re safe”, Madame DuPain-Cheng nodded. “Do need to call your father to pick you up?”

Chloé shook her head negative. “Daddy has probably been called out to fight…whatever this is", she laughed nervously. “I-I'd better go home. Wait for him and Adrien. I have a note! Madame Raincomprix said I could go home!” 

Shoving her phone into her hoodie pocket, intending to show her homeroom teacher she wasn’t lying, she was surprised to encounter something besides the slip of paper in her pocket. Chloé held out the note for inspection to Madame, who nodded, then Chloé darted away in the crowd, hand clutching the object in her pocket, looking for someplace out of the way to look at the unfamiliar thing. 

An unused pedestrian archway provided a moment of privacy as Chloé pulled the black hexagonal lacquered box from her pocket.

It couldn’t be…

Swallowing in a suddenly dry throat, her fingers trembled as she flipped the catch, the box popping open to reveal a silver ring embedded in a red silk lining. A burst of green energy, and a diminutive ebon creature that almost resembled a cat appeared in mid-air, stretching and yawning, looking around.

“I’m Plagg, a Kwami, and…you’re not the blonde I was expecting…”, the being introduced itself.

Elated, disappointed, scared, resigned, freaking out and Completely Done, all at the same “Yeah, well, deal with it, rodent.”, Chloé deadpanned. “How do I change?”

“What?!”

“What. Is. Your. Transformation. Phrase?”, Chloé demanded. “I don’t have all day, so lets get on with it!”

“Plagg, claws out", the spirit said flatly. 

Chloé grinned. This she understood. She slipped the silver ring on the third finger of her right hand.

“Plagg! Claws out!”, Chloé exulted.

A flickering nimbus of green light and energy infused Chloé as Plagg spiraled and vanished into the ring, which turned black as a golden cat pawprint appeared on it, supercharging her, transforming her, mundane clothing rippling away to become sleek burnished black leather with gold piping at shoulder and hip seams, bare shoulders, and an expressive length of leather belt for a tail. Knee high gold laced black boots, the toes formed to suggest a cat's foot, and golden claws tipping black armored gauntlets over gloves that reached past her elbows. Her long blonde ponytail burst free of it's tie, flowing out in a golden mane that reached the middle of her back, a black domino mask surrounding golden cat-slit eyes. The tasteful gold bell at her throat chimed sweetly as the transformation completed itself.

“Purrr-fect!”, Chloé chuckled to herself.

Dashing out onto the street from the archway, Chloé bounded over the traffic to the rooftop opposite, racing along the eaves, leaping with enhanced grace and strength, the baton drawn from it's storage on the back of her waist snapping out to pole-vault her over wider avenues, remembered adrenaline rush pounding in her ears. 

Now, where to find Adrien…

Sounds of conflict and confrontation, smashing glass and protesting metal.

Right. Follow the trail of destruction. How utterly, predictably ridiculous.

She tested her new reflexes by using the extended staff as a narrow balance beam, racing along its length. 

“Wah-ow wah-ow, ohhlookout!”, the warbling cry descended on Chloé immediately before she was knocked off her feet, plunging toward the pavement, jerking to a stop, entangled face to face with an achingly familiar feminine form.

“Who the hell runs into someone twenty feet off the ground…and…and…”, Chloé fumed, blinking upside-down at a chagrined set of… hauntingly beautiful sapphire blue eyes. Behind a scarlet domino mask.

“Ahhh, well, hello! You look paw-fully familiar.” Chloé couldn't help flirting, grinning like the proverbial Cheshire Cat, as they slowly spun. “Are we gonna hang around here all day?”

The girl in the scarlet body suit blushed. “Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't do it on purpose.”

It was then Chloé discovered one of the benefits of possessing the Cat Miraculous: a more acutely sensitive sense of smell. And this girl smelled…

“Wonderful…”, Chloé sighed, just as the thin line supporting both of them unwound from around the Cat Staff, dumping them unceremoniously on the ground in a heap, the staff clattering to the ground.

After extricating themselves from the loops of thin cable and standing up, Chloé extended a hand in polite greeting. “I’m your partner. Your Kwami mouse-ed have told you about me. I'm…Hellcat. Yeah, Hellcat. And you?” 

“I'm Ma... err... Mar... uhh...”, the girl in the black-spotted red bodysuit yanked on the yo-yo, causing it to hit Hellcat. “Madly Clumsy. I'm so clumsy...”, she admitted dejectedly.

Hellcat grinned. “No sweat, clumsybug. Everyone has a first time.” 

The pavement shivered in a shockwave, Hellcat spinning to see the tallest building Paris, the Tour Montparnasse, tilting, crumbling, crashing into ruin and dust.

“That's our cue!”, Hellcat nodded, hop-stepping into a dash in the direction of the disaster.

“What?! Hey! Where are you going?”, the twin ponytailed blue-nette demanded.

“Time to be heroes. Paris needs us!”, called over a shapely bare shoulder.

“Ugh…”, the girl with sapphire-blue eyes grumbled, then muttered, “Trust yourself, trust yourself", before casting her yo-yo to leap into a clumsy swing that almost went in the same direction of the self-confident blonde.

The pair of costumed heroes followed the path of destruction to the Parc des Princes stadium just in time to see the students from Françoise Dupont fleeing the area, Hellcat's leap carrying her to the roof overhanging the seating area. “Come on, laaa—h-how about we go show this troublemaker a red card?”, Hellcat quipped before pole-vaulting down the field, her momentum ending in a turf-tearing skid some distance in front of the marble monstrosity.

Hellcat blinked in surprise. This wasn’t the blocky, misshapen grotesque in her memories of the news footage. This Stoneheart was clean and elegant, gleaming white marble, veined with green aventurine, a ten foot high masterpiece worthy of Rodin or Michelangelo, with glowing emerald eyes. 

“HEY KIM!”, Stoneheart called, voice like an avalanche. “WHO'S THE COWARD NOW?”

High on the roof, the girl in the spotted scarlet bodysuit hesitated, eyes darting, scanning the field below, noticing rebellious Alya Césaire in her signature black leather jacket crouched in the mouth of the field entry tunnel, cell phone held in front of her with both hands, video recording or taking pictures. The usually over-confident Kim cowered behind a bench, doing his very best not to be noticed.

Hellcat had retracted her staff with a snap of her wrist. “Hey now, Rocky, let’s talk this over, huh?”, she asked, searching for the akuma-contaminated note, suspecting it was in his closed right hand.

“HA!”, Stoneheart scoffed, striking an aesthetically-pleasing defiant pose. “IT'S TIME FOR KIM TO GET TAKEN DOWN A PEG OR TWO!” 

“Any time, partner!”, Hellcat called, as Stoneheart advanced on her menacingly, tearing a bench out of the ground with contemptuous ease and throwing it at Hellcat.

Alya had enough time to screech in surprise as the black-clad heroine leaped above the thrown bench in a practiced front kick-over, the bench arcing right at the bespectacled teen, only to be swatted aside by the extended Cat Staff.

“Animal cruelty? How shameful!”, Hellcat's partner jeered as she skidded to a three point stop in front of Stoneheart from between his legs.

“Purrr-fect timing!”, Hellcat grinned in congratulations.

“Sorry it took so long, Hellcat”, the scarlet clad heroine apologised. “What’s the call?”

“The bigger they are, the harder they fall", Hellcat nodded. “I go high, you aim low. Then it’s Lucky Charm time, and game over!”

“Go ninja-kitty and super red bug!”, Alya cheered from cover.

The enhanced yo-yo whipped out, entangling Stoneheart's legs as Hellcat launched herself with a staff propelled leap, driving a flying kick into Stoneheart's chest, toppling him backward as he tripped on the yo-yo line, arms flailing, hands reaching to cushion his fall into the turf, the purple-black note fluttering free in the breeze created by the impact.

“Lucky Charm!”, the blue-nette cried, a scintillating display of rubious energy resulting in a foam rubber diving suit dropping into her hands.

“Cataclysm!”, Hellcat cried as she pounced on the contaminated page, disintegrating it into dust, the poisonous akuma flying away in jittering wing-beats.

“We did it!” Gorgeous dark blue eyes gleaming in triumph.

“Ack!”, Hellcat squawked. “The bug! Catch the bug! Quickly, you scarlet ssss-superhero!”, she corrected herself. 

The whizzing sound of the line retracting into the yo-yo, whipping back into a scarlet-gloved hand, Hellcat yelping as Stoneheart caught her by her leather belt tail, pulling Hellcat into range of those devastating stone fists, each as large as a basketball.

“R-right! Time to de-evilize!”, the be-spotted hero called, throwing her yo-yo again, the casing splitting open to capture the enchanted insect. “Bye-bye, little butterfly. No more evil doing for you.”

The purified white butterfly fluttered away on the breeze.

Adrien Bourgeois blinked, lying on his back, realizing he was gripping a length of leather in his right hand.

“Caught a tiger by the tail?”, Hellcat winked suggestively over her tanned shoulder as she knelt prettily with her back to him.

Adrien’s face flamed bright red, dropping the end of the belt like it was white-hot iron, stammering a heartfelt apology.

“So what now?”, the scarlet and black insect-themed superhero inquired. 

“Lucky Charm time", Hellcat smiled, a little sadly as she stood up, dusting her knees off, Cat Staff now a cane in her hand. “You fix all the damage that was caused, and we…we part company until the next akuma shows up.”

A nod, the wetsuit thrown into the air. 

“Lucky Charm!”

Whirling, scintillating scarlet energy, all hurts healed, all damage repaired as if it had never happened.

Peace had returned to Paris.

Quiet beeps from their jewelry.

“Time to go", Hellcat nodded, wistful, gazing into those astounding blue eyes. “Let's…hang out some time, yeah?”

“Yeah…” Whispered.

Hellcat bowed to her companion, then sprinted away, cane whipping out, extending, launching Hellcat above the roof, bounding out of sight.

“That! Was! Amazing!”, Alya exclaimed, still recording, drawing nearer, fearless. “Who are you? How did you get you powers? Did a radioactive ladybug land on you? How long are you in Paris for?”

“Uhhh, I'm… La Coccinelle. And I…Paris is under our protection!”, the rookie superhero declared. 

More quiet beeps. “Uhh, gotta run!”

The whizz of a yo-yo being thrown, La Coccinelle pulled, swinging into the air with an undignified muffled yelp.

Alya followed the new superhero as long as she could, finally turning off her camera, and noticing the two sheepish looking young men standing nearby.

Taller Kim shuffled his feet, hands in his pockets. “Look, dude, umm, I’m sorry if… I didn’t mean to make you angry, alright?” 

Adrien nodded, holding out his hand in truce. “It’s cool. Life is too short to go through it angry.”

Alya walked over as the two youths settled their differences. “You’re the reason sunshine boy here hulked out?”, she glared at Kim. 

Kim at least had the grace to look guilty.

Shaking her head, the daring bespectacled teen sighed. “Just because I wear a leather jacket and play guitar, doesn’t mean I’m into bad boys. Gimme a guy who’ll admit when he’s wrong and willing to change for the better.”

“Huh?”, Adrien blinked.

“Tomorrow morning, coffee, white, two sugars, and we’ll talk about a date, sunshine boy.” Pocketing her mobile, Alya walked away, a sway in her hips.

Adrien had the goofiest smile on his face. “What just happened?”

“Buh?”, Kim wondered, shaking his head.

“Aaaaaa-driiiii-ennnn!” Chloé tackled her brother like a gently devoted blonde hurricane. “Are you alright, Adrikins?! Are you hurt? My poor brother!”

“No, I’m fine. Chloé, get off me! And you haven’t called me 'Adrikins' since we were seven!”

Chloé stood up, pulling Adrien to his feet, glaring at Kim.

“You, asshole, have some serious explaining to do!”

“Language, Chloé!”


	3. Freedom

She was beautiful under the light of the full moon, the lights of the city glittering like scattered diamonds in the velvet blackness, the silver radiance highlighting the lean curves beneath scarlet become dark intoxicating burgundy, sapphire eyes gone haunting cobalt.

They had been roaming the rooftops for weeks, months, saving each other countless times, growing in trust and intimacy, flirtation becoming so much more. 

But not tonight…

Tonight was the night. Their night. No more secrets. No more hiding. A secluded rooftop on a warm summer night, under the moon. They would drop the masks, revealing the truth to each other, and finally…

“HEY, Hey, hey, Paris! Its another glorious day! The coffee is hot, the sun will shine, and we’ll be playing the latest hits All. Day. Long!”

Chloé snapped awake, infuriated, and annoyingly…aroused, realizing she'd been... God, what was with her?! First the dreams about the freak in the silver mask, now waking up incredibly, embarrassingly horny. Utterly ridiculous.

She reached out, slapping the clock-radio into silence, a glint of silver on her finger.

That wasn’t a dream.

She held a Miraculous again.

How did she know what a Miraculous was? Why wasn't she the Queen anymore? Had she done something wrong?

Adrien was already awake, showered and fussing with his wardrobe, such as it was. 

“Go with the white button-down over the black tee-shirt”, she mumbled helpfully.

“Casual chic?”, Adrien smirked.

“Hide the mustard stain."

Adrien crouched beside her bed, grinning. “You’re all heart, sis.”

“That’s me. Bringing salvation to the world”, Chloé groaned in waking protest, rolling over. “Why are you extra perky this morning?”

“I’m taking Alya coffee. C'mon, get up.”

“Why am I getting up?”

“I’m tapped out. Can I borrow twenty Euro?”

“Now I know why Cain was an only child…”, Chloé grumbled. “Sure, fine. I’m getting up. Gimme a few to look presentable.”

“See you downstairs!” Adrien cheerfully abandoned their shared room and thundered down the stairs.

Chloé sat up under protest, staring at the lance of morning radiance that penetrated the curtains hung over the single window.

“Ugh. Now I remember why everyone called you ‘sunshine child' “, Chloé sighed.

“Good morning to you too", Plagg yawned as he slid through the wall. “ ‘Bout time you woke up. I’m hungry.”

Chloé flinched, startled. “Don’t do that!”, she hissed. “What if somebody sees you?! Where were you?” 

"Cry me a river, kid. You woke me up when you started moving and talking in your sleep and I really didn't want to stick around to find out what the dream was about once you started kissing your pillow."

“I did no such thing!”, Chloé protested.

Plagg made kissy-kissy sounds and mimed embracing an invisible partner.

Footsteps in the hallway.

Chloé grabbed the floating Kwami, shoving him rudely under her pillow, trying to look as innocent as possible as Adrien reappeared. “Not even gonna ask", he deadpanned. “Dad forgot to buy bread again, so we have to buy lunch too.”

A face-down, pillow-muffled scream was the response.

*-*-*

Adrien balanced a small cardboard tray bearing three tall paper take-out coffee cups in one hand, the paper sack of bakery goodies and prepared sandwiches bearing the logo of Couffaine Confections in the other, warily eyeing his sister as they crossed the street.

Chloé sipped at her bottle of orange juice, glaring at the slip of paper in her other hand.

“That's all I have?! Three hundred and seventy-two euros and seventeen cents? Utterly ridiculous!”, she complained.

“It's not like Dad is made of money", Adrien observed. “He’s been pretty good about giving us pocket money since mom…” He looked away.

Chloé sighed, annoyed with herself. “Yeah. Umm…here I am, being queen bitch again, making it all about me all the time.”

“ ‘Sokay", Adrien mumbled.

“No, it isn’t”, Chloé shook her head. “You’re…you’ve got a girl interested in you, so the least I should be doing is being supportive of you. I’m…sorry.”

“I’d hug you, but then I’d spill the coffee”, Adrien smiled. “Speaking of, you didn’t take your usual today. You gonna be functional?”

A blonde nod. “Yeah. I just didn’t feel like coffee this morning.”

“Weird.”

“I know, right? Maybe it’s the end of the world”, Chloé grinned.

“Well, well, well, it’s about time you showed up!”

“Good morning, Sabrina", the blonde twins chorused, resignedly. 

“Which one is mine?”, the red-haired heiress demanded.

Chloé accepted the bag handed to her by Adrien, while her brother wiggled one cup free and handed it to Sabrina. “You’re welcome", Adrian commented dryly, as Sabrina took a sip, considered for a moment before nodding.

“Acceptable.”

“Ooo, coffee!”, Alya exclaimed cheerfully as she walked over. “You remembered! Merci, Adrien!”

Adrien blushed slightly as he handed Alya her coffee, claiming the remaining one for himself.

“You kids have fun", Chloé smiled. “I’ve gotta go check in with Madame Raincomprix. Alya, be nice to my brother.”

The amber-eyed Martiniquan girl swept a lock of her long auburn ombre hair over her right ear, with an endearing, shy flirty smile. “Count on it.”

Chloé was putting their purchased lunch in her locker when Marinette DuPain-Cheng arrived in her typical frantic rush, even more distracted and uncoordinated than usual, trying to reassure her father via phone she had arrived intact, no, no stone monsters this morning, shoving her schoolbag into her locker in such a way that her school supplied tablet computer slid off the locker shelf and almost fell on her head, except Chloé’s hand darted out and caught it in mid-air.

Marinette blinked. “Uhh, thanks, Chloé?”, she mumbled, embarrassed as the blonde handed the device to her.

“Try not to kill yourself, DuPain-Cheng”, Chloé smiled primly, closing her locker, and heading in the direction of Madame Raincomprix’s office. Knocking on the door, entering and having a seat when acknowledged.

The auburn-haired administrator was bent over several documents, reading, making occasional notations, and infrequently consulting her computer for a clarification. Chloé sat quietly, hands still holding the sack from the bakery, hands between her knees, slightly apprehensive.

“Madame DuPain-Cheng tells me you went home after being accounted for yesterday.” Madame Raincomprix hadn’t even looked up from her work.

Chloé nodded. “Uh-huh. Daddy didn’t get home until late.”

Madame Raincomprix set aside her pen, green eyes examining Chloé. “How did you sleep?”

Chloé’s cheeks coloured. “Umm…better?”, she hesitated.

“You seem to be in a better mood this morning.”

“My brother might have a date”, Chloé admitted, shy and proud.

Madame Raincomprix nodded. “He might not have as much time for you if that's the case. How does that make you feel?”

Chloé sat back in her chair. “He deserves some happiness. He…we’ve both been…well, not our best since...” A pause. “And I haven’t helped, being such a royal bi—umm, pain. I meant royal pain.”

“You have been rather…challenging recently”, Madame Raincomprix smiled.

Impulsively, Chloé reached into the bag of baked goods, depositing a decadent chocolate éclair in a white corrugated paper liner on the principal's desk.

“Is this an attempt to bribe me, Chloé Bourgeois?”, Sabrina's mother smiled.

“Definitely”, Chloé nodded.

Madame Raincomprix made shoo-ing motions with both hands. “Scoot. You'll be late for class.”

Chloé paused by the door. “Thank you.” Quiet. Honest.

Green-eyed understanding above a smile. “Go.”

*-*-*

Marinette glanced up, shifting sideways as Chloé slid onto the bench beside her. “Thanks again for the save earlier.”

Chloé shrugged. “Glad to help.”

An awkward moment. Chloé placed the bag of pastries on the bench between them. “Don’t hog them all, okay?”

Marinette leaned her cheek on her left hand, regarding Chloé. “What’s this?”

“Peace offering.”

“Because…?”

Chloé sighed, placing her own tablet on the desk. “Daddy mentioned it’s getting to be that time of year for the annual awkward dinner party, so I figured we may as well start getting along now instead of the weird strained politeness we usually have.”

“Huh. Okay.” A pause. “Where’s your brother?”

Chloé paused a moment before answering, watching as Felix and his sister Rose entered the classroom, the smug teen model striding over to slide in next to a visibly smitten Sabrina while his diminutive sibling struggled with her load of school supplies and books, apparently almost tripping over the step as she made her way to her seat next to Juleka.

“Adrien? He’s chatting with what's her name, Alya.”

*-*-*

“…drien.” Fingers snapped near his face. “Hey, you paying attention, sunshine boy?”

“Huh? Yeah! Umm, okay!”

“Anything in particular you were daydreaming about?”, Alya smiled knowingly, arms crossed under her considerable bosom.

“Actually, yeah", Adrien admitted with a smile.

Alya waited for the usual response, arms crossed, hip cocked, a smirk on her lips.

“You have the most amazing eyes.”

Alya blinked in astonishment, glanced down at herself, then at the blonde youth in front of her. That was a new one. And for once, completely honest.

“And that just got you a date, sunshine boy", Alya grinned. “How do you feel about shopping for vinyl?”

“Saturday?” Hopeful.

Alya nodded. “Pick me up around noon.”

“Okay", Adrien smiled. “We'd better get to class.”

*-*-* 

Chloé glanced up as Adrien walked into the class accompanying Alya, both of them trying hard to look they weren’t a new couple, and almost not failing. The blonde youth and the voluptuous leather-jacketed girl slid into the unoccupied bench beside Marinette and Chloé, his twin lifting a silent eyebrow and hand in an inquisitive ‘So?!’ gesture. He flashed a quick grin and a positive thumbs-up in reply.

Madame DuPain-Cheng called for quiet and took attendance, beginning their school day.

Classes seemed to crawl by, dragging out interminably until lunch time, when on a whim, Chloé suggested to her brother that they take their lunches and enjoy them on the banks of the Seine, just two blocks away. 

“Can I bring Alya?”, Adrien inquired. 

Chloé thought for a moment, then nodded. “Sure. I’ll ask DuPain-Cheng if she wants to come along.”

Minutes later, the foursome, joined by Juleka, Mylène, and a skittish Rose were sitting on the concrete embankment, legs dangling over the side, chatting, laughing, sharing their food and enjoying the warm late summer afternoon. Appetite sated, Chloé languidly stretched out on her back, resting her head on arms crossed behind her head, half-listening to the animated debate being led by Alya.

The dominant topic of discussion was the sudden appearance of the heroic duo who had intervened during the remarkable events of the previous day. Thankfully, Alya paid little attention to the hows and whys of Adrien becoming Stoneheart, instead speculating on the possible origins, motivations, and mundane identities of the two heroes.

“I don’t know about any of that", Rose offered. “I’m just glad they appeared at all. If the one in the black kitty costume—”

“Hellcat", Chloé interjected.

“—Right, ‘Hellcat'”, Rose nodded, “If she hadn’t arrived when she did, Felix wouldn’t have to split the eventual inheritance with me. As it was, I had to find my way home by myself, and it took ages!”

Adrien was offended on the petite girl's behalf. “That's terrible! Didn’t your parents worry about you?”

A quiet little sigh. “Father was in a meeting, and mother was fussing over Felix. It’s okay.”

Chloé snorted. “How utterly ridiculous!”

Mylène and Juleka also voiced their support to the diminutive girl, who blushed and sniffled a bit, unused to the positive attention.

“Hey, Rose, if you ever get stuck again, you’re welcome to hang out with me at the bakery, ‘k?”, Juleka offered.

Marinette glanced at her phone. “We should head back.”

General groans of disappointment greeted the announcement.

*-*-*

School was over for the day, supper eaten and the dishes washed. A cool evening breeze whispered in under the open window, rippling the curtains. Adrien lay in the top bunk, reading a treasured copy of Yoko Tsuno: On the Edge of Life while Chloé finished her homework.

“I’m going to get a job", Chloé announced.

“You. Working. Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious, Adrien!”

Adrien sat up, putting his comic aside. “Okay, let’s look at the facts. One, you'll need dad's permission to get a part-time job. Two, your patience with other people is almost non-existent. Three, why are you suddenly concerned about money?”

Chloé turned in her seat, looking Adrien in the eye. “I…I want to take dance classes, or at least find space to, umm, workout.”

“You haven’t danced since before mom…” Adrien looked away. “I…yeah, I get it. Kind of.” He paused. “What kind of job were you thinking of?”

“Bike courier?”

“We don't own a bike.”

Chloé tapped at her phone for a moment, holding up the search result. “Triban Easy, from Decathalon.”

A low whistle from her brother. “That’s just about gonna wipe you out.”

Chloé shrugged. “Daddy's always going on how I don’t know the value of a Euro. Maybe it’s time I learned.”


	4. Divergence

Police Brigadier Andre Bourgeois shrugged into his duty jacket, a slice of p'tit dej toast in his mouth as he hurried through his morning routine before his detested Saturday morning shift, slightly surprised his beloved Chloé was already awake and out of bed at the early hour, even if she was preoccupied with watching vintage animated programming, sitting cross-legged on the couch, a thin duvet draped over her shoulders, a bowl of cereal balanced in her hand, her cell phone sharing the arm of the couch with the television remote.

“’Clèmentine’, eh?”, Andre smiled as he kissed the top of her head. “I used to watch that when I was your age.”

Chloé nodded, distracted.

“Do you have any plans for the day?”

“Laundry, then buying a bike probably", Chloé shrugged.

“Just be careful on the roads", her father cautioned as he swept back his greying hair, snuggling down his peaked duty cap.

“Yes, daddy.” Chloé only barely registered the sounds of the front door closing and the lock engaging. 

The credits and closing theme song had started when Chloé got up, rinsed out her empty bowl, then padded upstairs and retrieved their laundry bag, taking it down to the kitchen and loading the washing machine. Whispers told her Jean-whatever-his-name-was should be doing this. She turned on the washing machine and retreated to the couch and her duvet. ‘Asterix’ had started.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Adrien shuffled downstairs a few minutes later, peeking in at his sister before returning from the kitchen with a tumbler of orange juice and a stale croissant smeared with preserves, joining Chloé on the couch.

“How did you sleep?”

A shrug. “Okay, I guess", Chloé mumbled.

Asterix and Obelix were soundly thrashing the invading Romans yet again on screen.

“Am I crazy, Adrien?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I crazy?”

“Not anymore than usual.”

Chloé pouted. “I’m serious.”

Adrien sighed. “I dunno. They say if you ask if you’re crazy it means you’re not.”

“Oh.”

‘Asterix’ ended, and ‘Albator’, the French adaptation of ‘Space Pirate Harlock’ began.

“I hope it’s one with Queen Emeraldas", Chloé smiled, just a bit.

“You like this retro junk?”

“I’m not the one who ran around in the park with his arms back pretending to be Naruto…”

“I was ten!”, Adrien protested with a laugh. 

“You tied one of mother's black stockings around your head!”, Chloé giggled, triggering them both to collapse in laughter. They fell back into opposite corners of the couch moments later.

Adrien sobered. “I miss her.”

Chloé was silent for a moment. “She…I—I don’t remember her. Not like you do. And…and that’s one of the reasons I’m wondering if I’m going crazy.”

Adrien got up, fetching a framed picture from the television stand. Sitting, staring at it, at the slender fair-haired woman beside the younger version of himself. “Sucks that this is the only picture we have left of her.”

‘Clara—uh, Chloé, what is this?!’, the horrific memory of a brass haired harridan whispered in her ear, “Ugh, this wrapping paper is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous! You're fired!’ Humiliation, loneliness, sadness.

And the single shining moment of that awful day, golden Pollen…

What was a Pollen? Why should she feel so elated and miserable at the same time?

Chloé smiled, sadly. “It's okay, Adrien. You…you’ll remember her best for both of us.”

A gentle hand on her shoulder became a supportive embrace. “Every time I look at you, I can see her, watching over both of us.” Chloé clung to her brother, desperately wishing she had his memories of their mother.

The washing machine buzzed annoyingly, announcing the finish of its cycle. 

“I’ll put the stuff in the dryer”, Adrien offered quietly. Chloé nodded thanks, brushing away a tear.

Chloé shrugged off the duvet, standing and stretching. “I’m gonna grab a shower and head out.”

“Don’t use up all the hot water", Adrien requested. “I’m going vinyl shopping with Alya at noon.”

Chloé went upstairs, stripping out of her tee-shirt and track pants and starting the shower, testing it with her fingers to see if it had warmed up sufficiently. Luxuriating under the warm spray, she felt some of the apprehension she'd been carrying recently melt away, leaning her forehead against the tiled wall of the tub enclosure.

A sudden rattle of pipes almost warned Chloé in time before the water sluicing over her turned ice cold in an instant, reflexes slamming her into the wall as she shrieked in outrage and shock.

Adrien hurriedly shut off the hot water in the kitchen at the sound of his sister's distress, and almost had time to turn around before the ice-cold, sopping wet washcloth splatted him in the face. Chloé stood in the kitchen doorway, soaking wet, blonde hair lank and dripping, clutching a towel in front of herself, barely concealed.

“Adrien, you fucking scatterbrained kitten, how many times have we told you not to use the hot water if someone is in the shower?!”, Chloé howled before stomping away, her naked back to him. 

About an hour later, they had both attended to their morning routines and dressing, Chloé and Adrien left the house together, locking the door and agreeing to meet up later for coffee, walking along their route and enjoying the autumn Saturday morning.

“So you’re really going through with it, huh?”, Chloé smirked. “A date with Alya Cèsaire.”

Adrien nodded. “I have no idea what I’m doing”, he admitted.

“Well, think of every romantic gesture and smooth pick-up line you’ve ever seen in a movie or tee-vee show", Chloé advised. “Think how suave and cool all those guys were.”

Attentive, because Chloé sounded like she might know what she was taking about, Adrien nodded again.

“And don’t do any of it.”

Adrien blinked, terribly confused. “Hah?”

“Seriously, you’ll just look ridiculous”, Chloé told her brother. “Be your own sweet normal self, and you’ll do fine.”

The RATP bus wasn’t so crowded they couldn’t eventually find a seat together for the ride to the canal where the Césaire family moored their home. During the ride, Adrien stared out the window while his sister listened to music on her phone. Chloé glanced at her sibling at a stop light, seeing his pensive expression. She nudged his elbow, eyebrow arched inquisitively.

Adrien mimed removing something from his ears, and Chloé complied. “I’m still not used to seeing my face everywhere”, he murmured to his sister. “And having my double in sitting in the same class is seriously creepy.”

Chloé sat forward to see around her brother, observing the advertising poster that displayed the smirking countenance of the teenage male model Felix Agreste. She frowned slightly at the memory of being infatuated with Adrien, competing for his attentions with DuPain-Cheng and…who was Lila?

The small fangirl shrine to Felix that gazed down at her in her lower bunk had to go. Lusting after someone who she belatedly realized looked exactly like her brother felt so horribly wrong. Not to mention like she was cheating on…her.

The short walk from the bus stop to Alya's family houseboat paused twice while Adrien psyched himself up, or dithered about whether he should have brought flowers. The floating residence, christened the ‘Purple Panther' according to the bow placard, was nothing short of barely restrained chaos, as Alya introduced the pair in turn to her harried and distracted mother who worked days as a the sous chef at the Grand Paris Hotel, then the eldest sibling, a sister who was busy yelling into a phone, followed by the two youngest twins, then Max, her bespectacled younger brother, and Nino, a cousin who had moved in, and older than Alya by a year, who looked Adrien up and down appraisingly before offering a friendly handshake. 

“So my dorky cousin finally found a guy she didn’t scare off”, Nino grinned. “Uncle Otto will be pleased. “He was sure Alya was as gay as Nora, just waaaay more butch.” 

Alya cuffed Nino on the back of the head, dislodging his glasses as he flinched. “Rude! C'mon, Adrien, let’s blow before the stupid spreads.”

Distracted by the din of the household, Adrien nodded. “Where are we going exactly?”

“Betino's and Crocodisc!”, Alya grinned, naming two of Paris' more famous used record stores. “We’re gonna be hunting for Haitian jazz fusion!”

“I have no idea what that is, so I’m in your hands”, Adrien smiled.

“Oooo! A virgin!” Alya giggled as Adrien's face flamed bright red, and he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand as he chuckled nervously.

Chloé stood shoulder to shoulder with Nino on the stone paved canal side, watching as Alya led her twin brother away. “He has no idea what he’s getting into, does he?”

“None at all”, Nino nodded, deadpan.

“Who should I feel more sorry for?”

“Neither. I’ll make the popcorn", Nino offered.

“If she breaks his heart, I’m gonna kill her”, Chloé observed.

“Ditto if your brother screws around on my favorite cousin."

“Deal.” Chloé and Nino shook hands without taking an eye off their respective family.

Well over an hour later, Chloé stood on the pavement outside the Decathlon store, black and yellow cycling helmet dangling by it's strap from one hand as she regarded her new ten-speed bike dubiously. The bicycle, lock, and helmet had almost completely drained her bank account. And she had come to a terrifying realization.

She wasn’t completely sure she actually knew how to ride a bike. 

‘What am I doing?’, Chloé thought to herself. ‘I should be riding in a limo, not playing dodgem in traffic like riff-raff.’ She paused. When had she ever ridden in a limousine?

Buckling her new helmet in place, and swinging her leg over the bike, Chloé cheerfully sing-songed “I’m gonnnnaa diiiiiii-ee!” morbidly as she wobbled unsteadily along the street, purse bumping her hip as she pedaled. 

Paused at a stoplight, Chloé heard the faint ping of her phone in her purse. Pulling her bike up on the curb, and ignoring the disdainful look from pedestrians, she retrieved the device, checking her massages.

Reports of a costumed lunatic robbing a bank flooded her inbox. A massive flock of pigeons witnessed by hundreds apparently obeying the feathered felon’s commands, swarming bank security and blocking closed-circuit cameras. Chloé looked up, noticing how all of the city's notorious winged pests were flying in one direction.

Her new bike lock secured the two-wheeled semi-nemesis to a café’s wrought iron railing. A hurried text to Adrien assuring him she was safe, then dashing down a nearby alley.

“Plagg! Claws out!”

*-*-*

“Feel the fury of my fine feathered friends!”, Monsieur Pigeon cooed, bulging leather-reinforced canvas sacks of euros clutched in each fist, glaring at the staff and bank patrons who cowered beneath the rattling flutter of beating wings. “Paris will rue the day they tried to coop us up!”

The police had arrived, attempting to intervene, but had been held at bay by the thousands of pigeons that swarmed around the bank in a dove grey cloud, blocking their lines of sight and preventing any direct assault on the building. The swirling mass of birds inadvertently masked the arrival of a sleek, black-clad interloper who dropped into the void in front of the main doors to the bank and the distracting motion of the immense flock.

Monsieur Pigeon’s first hint of trouble was the front doors shattering inward in an explosion of glittering shards of glass and fragments of twisted metal.

“Meow”, Hellcat introduced herself, standing in the doorway.

“Who the flock are you?!”, Monsieur Pigeon chirped in astonishment.

Hellcat whipped out her staff in a whistling figure of eight pattern. “Oh, I’m just the cat amongst the pigeons", she smiled primly.

“Out of my way, alley cat!”, the villain taunted before blowing into his bird call. “Peck her eyes out, my lovelies!” 

The pigeons that had been orbiting the perimeter of the bank lobby now coalesced into a determined mass, arrowing directly at Hellcat, who met them with a whirling rotor of her staff, fragile avian bodies smashed and scattered like chaff in the wind.

“What a downer", Hellcat grinned through the blizzard of drifting feathers.

“Hey, pretty-kitty”, La Coccinelle announced her arrival.

“Mroowwl”, Hellcat purred appreciatively, glancing at her partner who sported an unexpected modification to her costume; black arms and legs, with scarlet fingerless gloves that complimented the red torso and domino mask. “Welcome to the party.”

La Coccinelle side-eyed Hellcat. “You look like the cat who swallowed the canary”, she huffed, plucking a feather from Hellcat's golden mane.

“Too bony", Hellcat flustered.

“While you two are cooing over each other, I’m gonna wing it!”, Monsieur Pigeon crowed, jumping into the air, supported and borne aloft by his feathered felons, the sudden charge catching the two inexperienced vigilantes off guard, escaping through the gaping shattered portal.

“He chickened out!”, La Coccinelle blinked.

Hellcat facepalmed, seeing the police haltingly try to advance. “Well, that was an utter cock up…” 

“Open to suggestions", La Coccinelle said, eyeing the advancing uniforms warily. 

“You there, in the fancy dress! Surrender immediately!” came the command over the police car loudhailer.

Hellcat recognised her father in the police phalanx. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat. Let's not turn this into a complete fuster cluck.” Two sprinting steps, her staff extending, vaulting high into the air, La Coccinelle’s thrown yo-yo line yanking her aloft at the same time, then running along and over the rooftops, leaping and hurdling obstacles, springing or swinging across streets in pursuit of Monsieur Pigeon. News helicopters buzzed overhead, monitoring the chase.

“Where is he going?”, La Coccinelle panted.

“To feather his nest?”, Hellcat quipped, watching which way the massive flock was headed. 

Leaping across the avenue from the roof of Collège Françoise Dupont the duo alighted on the rooftop patio belonging to Couffaine Confections, La Coccinelle pausing when Hellcat tapped her arm. 

“We need recon", Hellcat explained, short baton-sized Cat Staff in hand, which she pulled apart lengthwise, revealing a thin display screen, thumb-scrolling the view until she saw what she was after, a news camera close-up of their quarry, now atop the Grand Paris Hotel, screeching demands as he held a terrified Sabrina Raincomprix at arms length leaning backward over the six story drop.

Hellcat swallowed hard.

She knew exactly how far down that fall was.

“We have to save her", Hellcat whispered.

“You know her?”, La Coccinelle inquired.

“She's…the daughter of the Mayor of Paris", Hellcat nodded, shaken. “Who hasn’t heard of Sabrina or her father?”

“How do we do this?” Calm blue eyes gazed at Hellcat/Chloé.

*-*-*

The elevator ride up to the Raincomprix family’s private floor was made in strained silence.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re almost one step ahead of everyone else, including me?”, La Coccinelle demanded quietly.

Hellcat sighed, slightly downcast. “Can we please not do this right now? Let’s save Sabrina, and capture the akuma. Then I promise, I’ll answer your questions.”

La Coccinelle regarded her partner silently. “Fine.”

“Just back my play and keep bird-brain busy.”

The elevator chimed, doors opening onto a plushly decorated hallway, to be met by an almost frantically calm Madame Raincomprix, her usually neat auburn bun now a tangled knot.

“I hope you know what you’re doing", Sabrina's worried mother muttered as she admitted La Coccinelle and Hellcat into her daughter's room. A pang of home-sickness shot through Hellcat/Chloé upon seeing the all too familiar decorating scheme and furnishings.

Monsieur Pigeon waited for the pair on the other side of the glass doors, smiling pettily beneath his beak of a nose.

“So glad you decided to drop in", Monsieur Pigeon chirped nastily. “Now hand over your Miraculouses or the chick falls out of her nest!”

A wrist-powered flick-snap of Hellcat's belt tail and she pounced, tackling Sabrina off the ledge, plunging in a wailing scream towards the hard pavement waiting below, the Cat Staff extending, gripped hard in Hellcat's right hand, sliding, left arm wrapped around Sabrina as the Cat Staff recoiled like a compressing spring, absorbing the energy of their descent, Hellcat and her passenger touching down on the sidewalk, landing on their feet, unharmed.

Adoring hero-worship in Sabrina's eyes.

“Stay here", Hellcat ordered before leaping up the side of the building, claws scrabbling and tearing at the stonework as she ascended up the building as if in pursuit of a particularly vexatious squirrel.

The scene on the rooftop that greeted Hellcat as she flipped up onto the parapet was utter chaos. Caline, Madame Raincomprix, screaming invective at the top of her lungs, throwing whatever came to hand at Monsieur Pigeon who dodged frantically, while La Coccinelle sought refuge behind a black-spotted red patio umbrella as swarms of birds dive-crapped her position.

Annoyed, Hellcat stomped over behind Monsieur Pigeon, tapped him on the shoulder, delivering a snapping right jab to his jaw when he turned, knocking the villain unconscious. 

The cursed bird call crunched under Hellcat's boot heel, simultaneously releasing the akuma and freeing the pigeons from their compulsion, La Coccinelle's yo-yo flicking out, capturing the blighted insect, purifying it.

“Bye-bye, little butterfly.”

Hellcat smirked at her partner. “A patio umbrella?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”, La Coccinelle huffed as her earrings beeped plaintively.

“Wonderfully", Hellcat nodded, smiling, gazing at those amazing blue eyes. “Go be charming.”

La Coccinelle blushed, stammering out her trademark phrase, the glorious, familiar rush of radiant vermilion swirling energy setting all to rights.

Hellcat stepped up on the parapet, La Coccinelle beside her, as Sabrina burst through her bedroom door, intercepted in a heartbreakingly relieved embrace by her mother.

“Time to go, milady", Hellcat murmured.

La Coccinelle regarded her for a moment.

“We so need to talk.”


	5. It's the Little Things

“We so need to talk.”

The phrase echoed in Chloé’s mind as she lay sleepless in her bed, staring up at her brother’s bunk without seeing, back of her right hand pressed to her forehead. The occasional whisper of tires on the street outside filtered in under the window that had been left open just slightly to provide a faint breeze.

Chloé turned her head to look at the time.

Two-seventeen. The numerals mocked her with their muted red glow. She’d been in bed for four hours, awake the entire time.

She needed sleep.

She feared the dreams.

What would it be tonight? The little rich bitch? Or languid anticipation?

“Oh god…", Chloé whispered in the stygian gloom. “Why is this happening to me?”

Her eyes fluttered closed.

*-*-*

“We’re going to be late!”

A voice from the living room of their shared apartment.

Her voice. 

Trilled amusement urged Chloé to hurry, just a little bit, as she applied the final touches to her make-up.

“You can’t rush perfection", Chloé replied haughtily, checking her appearance in the mirror one final time. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Movement in the bedroom doorway. Eyes like sapphire framed by gleaming blue-black hair in a face of unblemished pale porcelain. “Do good things include the fresh strawberries I saw in the refrigerator?”

Chloé's breath caught in her chest. She loved the way Her lips tasted like strawberry when they kissed, late at night on those oh-so-very-special occasions. 

Her girlfriend was an absolute vision, leaning seductively against the doorjamb, dressed in a sable and conch cocktail dress with a layered ruffled skirt, an original design that had been a scrap of inspiration on a café napkin three days ago. Chloé's own outfit for the evening was an ivory and lemon reflection, complimentary while contrasting. Their living room still looked like a fabric shop had exploded in it.

She couldn't wait any longer. She had to do it!

The small white satin box was in her hand, thumb flicking the lid up even as Chloé kissed the knuckles of her lover's hand, a simple gold band with an inset sapphire that matched those enchanting eyes, flanked by two tastefully diminutive diamonds.

A breathless kiss, hungry, demanding. Plaintive and terrified.

“Make my birthday memorable, darling. Marry me.”

*-*-*

“Wah-ohh-oof!” Marinette announced as she stumbled over the step up to the bench she shared with Chloé, an explosion of papers fluttering into the air.

Sabrina tittered behind her hand as Felix Agreste smiled far too smugly. Adrien frowned at both of them while Alya lifted a not well concealed rude gesture in their direction.

“Geez, DuPain-Cheng, try not to kill yourself", Chloé muttered as she helped her seat-mate up, grabbing a handful of pages off the floor. An almost concealed colorful doodle caught her attention as the blue-nette clambered to her feet, glaring at the offending patch of nothing that had tripped her. Chloé shifted the page to get a better look at the drawing.

Hellcat.

Or rather, a (ahem) more alluring version of Hellcat. Curvier.

Chloé side-eyed DuPain-Cheng, who snatched back the page as her cheeks colored. 

“What?!”, Marinette challenged, fire in her eyes.

A blonde ponytail bobbed as Chloé smirked. “Fangirl much?”

“I—Alya wanted some sketches for her new blog”, Marinette huffed as she sat down, adjusting one of her own short ponytails. “La Coccinelle Corner, if you want to know.”

Madame DuPain-Cheng called for quiet and class commenced.

*-*-*

The weather had held decent enough into late September for Chloé, Marinette, Adrien, and Alya to enjoy lunch in the Place de Vosges park, surrounded by the quadrangle of antique and prestigious row-houses that Couffaine Confections belonged to. Alya was holding forth again on how amazing La Coccinelle and Hellcat were to her bandmates Mylène and Juleka, along with Rose Agreste, who seemed to have become amusingly attached to the goth fashionista.

Adrien was semi-absorbed in listening to the selection of Haitian jazz he'd downloaded at Alya's suggestion while his paramour expounded on the mystery heroes. Marinette was fussing over another sketch, correcting lines and poses, stick eraser gripped like a bridle-bit between her teeth swapping frequently with her mechanical pencil.

Stretched out on her back, right ankle resting on raised left knee, Chloé cradled her head on her arms, gazing up at the patchy blue sky, trademark yellow hoodie zipped open and splayed wide.

“Deep thoughts?” Marinette's question intruded on Chloé’s reverie.

“Why don’t we ever see any airplanes?”

“What are you talking about?”

Chloé pointed up into the cloud-dappled azure firmament. “Paris has an airport, right? And the city is a tourist destination, oui? Or at least all the crappy postcards and brochures tell us.”

“Okaaaaay…" Chloé couldn’t mistake Marinette's dubious tone.

“So where are all the planes and tourists?” Chloé shrugged.

Marinette set down her pencil, a familiar frown creasing the space between her elegant eyebrows.

‘She only gets that crease when she's really thinking about something', the pretty blonde's recall whispered. ‘Remember what She was like during her application to Institut Français de la Mode?’

Her girlfriend had almost been unbearable for weeks she was so stressed out, Chloé reminded herself. Taking her dancing always cheered her up. And a relaxed girlfriend usually meant shared chocolate strawberries and…and…oh my…

“Okay, two questions”, Marinette's voice jarred Chloé back to reality.

“One: Why are you staring at me?”

“And two: Why are you blushing?!” 

Chloé was saved by the distant blaring of the newly installed school akuma alarm and every one of the small clique’s phones simultaneously chiming the now mandatory akuma app warning them to shelter in place.

Juleka rolled to her feet, pulling tiny Rose up by the hand. “The bakery! C'mon!”

Mylène mewled in distress at the prospect of running the diagonal of the park to reach the bakery. She sprinted like a brick during gym class at the best of times if she was being honest.

Alya poked closed-eyed Adrien before Chloé could, getting his attention, yelping about the akuma when he removed his earpiece. Adrien scrambled upright, pulling Chloé up, who helped Marinette tug Mylène into motion as the first sounds of catastrophe reached them in the form of blustering wind and the crash of metal.

The small group collectively flinched as a storm-tossed automobile smashed into the turf where they had been sitting moment before. The contents of Juleka's rooftop patio rained down immediately afterward.

Mylène was the first one through the door of Couffaine Confections.

Juleka’s mother Anarka was preoccupied by manually cranking the security shutters down to protect the expanses of sheet glass as Juleka and the rest of the group charged into the bakery, Marinette hauling the sidewalk sandwich board in with her as Chloé slammed the door shut.

The sky started to darken dramatically, casting a grey-green pall of light over the city.

“Living room?”, Alya demanded excitedly. She didn’t want to miss a second of what would no doubt be another exciting appearance of La Coccinelle and Hellcat.

Thunder of feet up the stairs.

Chloé used the distraction to slip out the back door (how did she know where the back door was?). The howling gale was much worse in the open, near cyclone strength, but almost tolerable in the windshadow created by buildings. She hated storms at the best of times.

Shaking fingers flipped open her purse, Plagg looking up at her.

“Kid, there’s no way I’m coming out in that!”

“Don’t be a fair-weather friend, purse-rat”, Chloé growled, blonde hair whipping in the wind.

“Oh, ha ha…”, Plagg scowled, crossing his miniscule forelimbs. “Seriously, I’m not coming out.”

Chloé lifted the purse to her face, staring the ebony Kwami in the eyes. “Plagg. Claws. Out.”, she very deliberately enunciated.

The swirling rippling vortex of chartreuse energy, the surge of strength and agility that accompanied her transformation into Hellcat.

Hellcat pulled out the Cat Staff baton, flicking open the comm function with her thumb. “Milady, I’ll get blown away if I try to reach the eye of the storm by my usual methods”, she yelled above the maelstrom of noise into the pick-up. “I’m going underground and I strongly suggest you do the same! Get some recon and message me as soon as you can!” 

A taloned middle finger inserted into the hole of a manhole cover was sufficient to lever the mass of solid metal aside so she could drop into the shaft, dragging the cover back into place, then sliding down into the stygian blackness, boot soles and gauntlet claws against the concrete tube walls braking her descent. 

Hellcat counted to ten before she opened her eyes. She could see. Far better than she expected to. The sewer was anything but the noisome, stinking septic channel a lifetime of television and bad movies had prepared her for.

Polished, painted concrete in two contrasting shades of industrial green, a vaulted tunnel with an expanded metal decking above a narrow channel filled with clean water, precisely labelled and numbered pipes, some as thick as her thigh connecting houses and buildings above to deeper infrastructure. The entire subterranean edifice reasonably clean, illuminated by a system that lighted her path automatically as she proceeded on her way. There was even a helpful ‘you are here' map at major junctions.

A beep from her Cat Staff.

Drawing the baton, flicking open the comm, talking as she walked. “Talk to me, bugaboo.”

“How did you know it was me?” La Coccinelle. Indignant.

“Right now, we’re the only two people who can talk via kwami-comm”, Hellcat explained. “What’s the situation?”

An exasperated sigh from the other end. “Some weather-girl wannabe is calling herself ‘Stormy Weather’, and after taking over the KIDZ+ studio in Tour Montparnasse, she's demanding in no particular order, to be made meteorologist in chief for life, head weather girl for all of Paris on every radio and television station, banning the ‘Wizard of Oz', our lives and Miraculouses, and a permanent suite at the Grand Paris Hotel.”

Hellcat stopped in her tracks. “She what?!”

“Uh, our lives and Miraculouses.”

“No, the one before that", Hellcat scoffed.

“Banning the ‘Wizard of Oz’?”

“Bitch has gone too far!”, Hellcat snarled. “That’s my go-to sick-day movie!”

“Are you insane?!”, La Coccinelle demanded. “The entire city is in danger, and you’re upset over some stupid movie?!”

A pause. 

“I have some very…fond memories of that movie", Hellcat explained quietly, tucking a curl of golden mane behind her ear.

“Oh...”

“Where are you?”, the black-clad heroine inquired, changing the subject.

“Underground like you said.” A pause. “Umm, it’s…”

Hellcat nodded, stopping to inspect one of the system maps. “Good.” Interrupting. “Can you find one of the maps?”

“How did—?” 

“I’m looking at one right now. Meet me at…”, Hellcat’s fingers traced a route. “Meet me at Raspail and Delambre.”

A moment of silence. “Got it.”

“See you there, Milady. Stay safe.”

Hellcat closed the connection, tucked the baton on the back of her belt, and broke into a loping run.

*-*-*

The sight that greeted Hellcat and La Coccinelle outside the doors to the Tour Montparnasse chilled them. Literally. 

Hundreds of corpses, frozen into immobility, sheathed in ice. Men. Women. Children.

La Coccinelle paled.

Hellcat ripped the front doors off their hinges, stalking into the lobby like an enraged panther, a low, warble sounding in her throat, scouting, inspecting, nose scenting the chill air.

It stank of fear. And death. 

La Coccinelle consulted the building directory, locating the KIDZ+ studio and offices. “Stairs will take forever", she grumbled.

Hellcat forced the doors to an elevator shaft open, buckling the sheet metal that squealed in protest. “Express route.” 

La Coccinelle peered up into the gloom. “I think there’s a car stopped on that floor.”

“Can your toy lift both of us?”, Hellcat inquired.

“Only one way to find out", the scarlet and black heroine nodded. “Only question is am I strong enough to hold you?” 

The monitor in the lobby flickered to life as it powered up remotely.

“Unless our two guest stars show up soon, I’m predicting an ice age for Paris!”, Stormy Weather chuckled, twirling her midnight blue parasol on her shoulder. Outside, the sky blacked, and a blizzard howled out of the sky.

Hellcat/Chloé blanched, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. This frigid bitch was threatening Adrien. And Daddy.

“Screw it! Going!”, Hellcat snarled, leaping up into the shaft, claws scrabbling on steel and cement as she sprang from girder to door lip, ascending higher and higher.

La Coccinelle’s yo-yo shot past, securing itself to the frame underside of the elevator car, pulling her up the center of the shaft, catching Hellcat around the waist as she ascended, both of them catching handholds as soon as they reached the car, dangling in the abyss.

Skittering movement above them, in the car.

Hellcat banged a fist on the metal above her. “Stand near the control panel!”, she shouted.

“What if that was Stormy?”, La Coccinelle hissed, annoyed.

“Then it’s gonna be a short fight and a long fall for the ice queen”, Hellcat growled.

Four sparking, metal rending slashes of her claws, and an irregular square of metal plunged into the darkness, clattering and banging off the walls as it fell, Hellcat folding her legs, launching herself feet-first into the elevator car with deafening snarl, startling the lone occupant.

“Please don’t hurt me!”, the dark haired young woman screamed. 

La Coccinelle pulled herself up into the elevator car. “Back off, Hellcat. You’re scaring her.”

Hellcat huffed in annoyance, inspecting the ice-encased elevator doors instead. A deep breath, and her kick shattered the ice, buckling the doors. The second kick burst the doors open, jamming the car in place.

“What’s your name?”, La Coccinelle asked the frightened girl.

“Mirelle Caquet”, was the reply. “I won the contest to become the new KIDZ+ weather reporter. Then Aurore went crazy, started calling herself ‘Stormy Weather' and freezing people! I just wanna go home!”

“We get you out of here, you hit the stairs, go down at least ten floors, find some place warm to hide”, Hellcat apologized. “Don’t try to go outside. It’s a whiteout and you’ll freeze.”

“A whiteout?!” Disbelief. “It's not even October, and there isn’t a sufficient cold front or low pressure system to create those conditions! Not at this time of year.”

“You’re arguing. With superheroes. About the weather?!”, Hellcat complained. 

Mirelle ducked her head, chastened. “At least ten floors down you said?”

Once the civilian was safely out of the way, Hellcat and La Coccinelle searched for Stormy Weather.

“I’d say your outlook is going from sunshine and roses to blackout!”, the villainess taunted from behind them, right before she blasted a main circuit bus with a bolt of lightning, plunging the building into utter darkness, Hellcat yipping at the sudden flash as light fixtures failed, tubes bursting in a shower of sparks, some of the fixtures actually falling out of the suspended ceiling to dangle on their wires.

When her vision cleared, Hellcat discovered she could see in the dark in shades of grey. 

Taking La Coccinelle by the hand, trying to lead her through the black void.

“Dodge right and duck", Hellcat ordered.

“What? OW!!” Sound of an impact with metal and the tinkle of shattered glass.

“Don’t move! Don’t open your eyes!”, Hellcat ordered, ripping the offending light fixture free of its wires, tossing it aside with a clatter. “Goddammit, you're covered in bits of broken glass. Hold still.”

Carefully, gently, Hellcat plucked every single minute shard out of La Coccinelle’s hair and off her face. Checking twice before allowing La Coccinelle to open her eyes.

Hellcat sighed. “Stay here. I’ll go find a flashlight for you.”

*-*-*

An hour of chasing and dodging a wind-blasting, lightning-throwing, ice-slinging lunatic through a darkened building had eventually culminated in near-disastrous confrontation on the roof of the Tour Montparnasse.

Broken and defeated, Stormy Weather cackled before tossing her folded akuma-contaminated parasol over the edge rather than allow La Coccinelle or Hellcat to capture the item, resulting in Hellcat tearing a length of cable free and leaping over the side to snatch the item out of mid air in a desperate swing before smashing through the heavy plate glass of a window five stories down.

Wasted precious time as La Coccinelle searched for Hellcat, finding her in a bloody heap surrounded by shards of glass.

“Do your thing, Milady, before I time out", Hellcat grinned, holding up the bent parasol.

Blinking back a tear, La Coccinelle did as she was asked, freeing the akuma, restoring all that had been lost with her Lucky Charm.

The two heroes looked down on the city, bathed in the bright sunshine of a perfect early autumn day. 

“Meet me on the roof of Notre Dame after sunset", Hellcat suggested as their jewelry sounded the thirty second warning. “I’ll explain as much as I can then.”

Then she was gone, leaping down the stairwell.


	6. Whisper to a Scream

She still didn’t like how her yo-yo yanked her off-balance into the air, but La Coccinelle had to admit she was getting better at making a graceful landing. 

She felt silly though, creeping about on the roof of one of the most famous landmarks in Paris in the dark, looking for someone who dressed in black. Shades of ‘Batman' much? The view was pretty though, the lights of the city spreading out in the dusk, the memory of the sun just a smear of deep crimson on the Western horizon fading into dark violet and then the eternal black of star-speckled night.

La Coccinelle found Hellcat sitting on the edge of the roof over the nave, legs dangling over the side, staring out at the city as she quietly ate a wedge of delicatessen ham and cheese sandwich, sipping from a bottle of apple juice.

“I said I’d explain. Or try to", Hellcat nodded, swallowing, not even looking at her partner. 

La Coccinelle carefully sat beside Hellcat. “’Hi, how are you? Thanks for saving my life.’”, she scoffed. “I’m getting real tired of the whole mysterious mentor bit from you, you know that?”

Half a sandwich was held out as a peace offering. “I don't sleep well anymore, and it makes me bitchy.”

“What the hell is going on?!”

“Eat. Or don’t. Your choice.” Hellcat took another bite of her sandwich.

La Coccinelle sighed, accepting the offer.

“He’s called Papillion. The Butterfly Man”, Hellcat began. “He’s got a Miraculous, like us, but he uses it as a weapon instead of helping people. He has a plan, but damned if anyone can ever figure it out. And the two weirdos we’ve faced so far are just the beginning. There’s going to be more of them, more frequently. And some of the akuma victims will be people we know. And care about.”

La Coccinelle nibbled at her sandwich, thinking.

“How do you know all this?”

Hellcat sipped at her juice before answering.

“You’ll think I’m nuts.”

“I’m sitting on the edge of the roof of Notre Dame Cathedral in the middle of the night, dressed like a refugee from a comic book, sharing a sandwich with a full-blown walking mystery woman”, La Coccinelle chuckled. “How much more crazy can your explanation be? And it’s three weirdos.” Her voice had gone up in indignation.

“First one doesn’t count.” Hellcat’s tone said not to argue the point.

“Fine”, La Coccinelle grumbled. “Now spill.”

“It's different this time.”

Blue eyes gone wide and cobalt in the dark stared at Hellcat. “…What…?” Deadpan.

“I think…I think I’ve done this before", Hellcat hesitated, sandwich set aside, clawed fingers gripping the stonework tightly, anchoring herself to reality. “Not exactly this, but…similar? The same play, the same stage, just the same actors playing different roles.”

La Coccinelle paused, sandwich halfway in her mouth, seeing the wide golden eyes staring at her. Scared and vulnerable.

“You’re serious.”

The golden mane nodded.

“How many…?”

“Three. At least three.” A pause. “Including this one. I think.”

“Any proof?”

Hellcat shook her head. “Proof? That I remember things that haven’t happened to us yet? You mean like how I know which threat we might face next, or all the secrets of our gadgets? God, I sound like a lunatic, don’t I?”, she ranted. “Just wait until butterfly-butt teams up with psycho-bitch Mayura! Then the shit really hits the fan!” Hellcat was panting hard, shoulders hunched, hackles raised. Frustrated, she swatted the bottle of juice off the edge, sending it flying out into the night, vanishing. Hearing it shatter far below on one of the ornate flying buttresses that supported the walls of the ancient edifice.

A concerned touch on her shoulder made Hellcat flinch. “Don't!!”, she hissed.

“Please…Just…don’t. Not yet.” Hellcat’s voice was tight, very small. “I trust you. But…not that. Not yet.” She angrily wiped away a tear. “Maybe not ever, this time.”

Sandwich remnants were shoved aside, La Coccinelle gently embracing Hellcat, who stiffened, trying to pull away. 

“I said No! Get off me! Please!”

“No.” La Coccinelle’s voice was quiet, firm and gentle. “No. You’re hurt, and I’m not going to let you keep hurting! My heart almost stopped when you jumped over the side after that stupid umbrella today!”

“I’m just a stupid cat with six lives left!”

“Then stop trying to waste them, kitty!”

“Whhhyyyyyyy?!”, Hellcat screamed, fist pounding insistently on La Coccinelle’s shoulder. “Why are you always so nice?” Sobbing, shoulders shaking. “You’re so brave and so good and I’m just a…a nobody…nothing special…”

La Coccinelle shushed Hellcat, stroking her mane. “You are brave. And good. And smart. Even if half the things you do scare the crap out of me you’re so reckless. And you're not a nobody. You’re my Hellcat. And I need you. Because I don’t have a clue what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“I’m so scared…I’m so scared!”, Hellcat moaned. “I’m not sleeping, and I don’t know where I am or who I’m ‘sposed to be I’m just a mess and all I want to do is scream an' hit things an’ I’m afraid that if I start I won’t stop an'—an'—an’—I’m so lonely!!” 

La Coccinelle held on to Hellcat as she ugly cried, rocking and soothing her until the howls quieted to whimpers, the whimpers to sniffling gasps, then deep even breathing as Hellcat succumbed to exhaustion, slumping into La Coccinelle's lap, sound asleep.

Bare fingers combed and stroked Hellcat’s golden mane, softer than expected. La Coccinelle stared out at the lights of the city, legs crossed at the ankle, mind whirling.

“Silly kitty. Silly, silly kitty. You’re a terrible flirt. You’re headstrong, and impulsive, and you have a terrible temper”, La Coccinelle murmured. “But you’re brave, and honest, and without you I’d just be a terrified girl in a costume. This entire crazy situation should have me running around screaming and pulling my hair out, but you…”

La Coccinelle bent to kiss Hellcat gently on the temple.

“You’re a pain in the ass, kitty", La Coccinelle smiled. “But you’re my pain in the ass.”

Time passed in silence, cool breeze whispering to the inscrutable gargoyles, sunset long past. La Coccinelle flipped open her yo-yo, checking the time on the comm function. After midnight. Hellcat stirred in her lap, mumbling, frowning, then settling.

A few minutes later.

“Thank you.”

“I guess you needed the sleep”, La Coccinelle smiled.

Hellcat shifted, sitting up carefully. Explaining how she’d fallen from the roof of Notre Dame would be ridiculously embarrassing.

“Better?”

Hellcat nodded. “Yeah. How long was I out?”

“Three hours, more or less?”

Hellcat blushed beneath her mask. “Not how I imagined our first night patrol was gonna go…”

“First night patrol? You mean, this is a regular thing?”, La Coccinelle queried.

“It…was? Can be? Umm…” Hellcat rubbed the back of her neck self-consciously. 

“Are you blushing?”

“Shut up! I am not!”

“You are!”

Hellcat scrambled to her feet. “I don’t believe this! You're utterly ridiculous!”

“What did you just say?” Blue eyes went from mischievous to quizzical.

“Uhhh…” Hellcat swallowed hard, backing away. “I, uh… look, forget I said anything! Yes, I’m blushing! See, I admit it! You made me blush. Can we go now? It’s late and I could use another cat nap…”

La Coccinelle stood up. Gazing levelly at her blonde counterpart. “You said you trust me.”

“I do! But this—We have to keep some things secret”, Hellcat pleaded. “I—I…before…” She waved fingers beside her temple. “It’s all messed up in here. My memories. I’m rich, I’m poor, we're older, younger, I like boys, I love girls—"

“We’re older?” La Coccinelle stepped toward Hellcat, who retreated. “How?”

“I don’t know!”

“What was her name?”

“Ladybug! She, Her, you were Ladybug! I was the Queen! Queen Bee!”, Hellcat panted, frantic. “We’d dance, oh God, how we loved to dance! You’d come to my recitals…no, wait. No. That was…Her.” Hellcat’s hands were tangled in her glorious mane. “No, not her, not you. The other one. I betrayed her, joined Papillion, became…became…”

Something dark fluttered by Hellcat's bare, pale shoulder.

“CAT!! DROP! NOW!!”

Hellcat slammed to the roof with a scream like tearing canvas, eyes wild. 

The black-spotted red yo-yo snapped out, snaring the insectoid menace before it alighted on the skittish young woman.

Hellcat was panting hard, mane fluffed up, eyes black saucers. “That’s how he gets you, how the Butterfly Man gets you, gets in your head, makes you his little toy, his little slave, makes you hurt people oh god so close so close so close, Mari you saved me again.” She glanced up, saw the hard look on La Coccinelle's face, the dangerous glint in her blue eyes.

“No-no-no-no-no-no! Don’t get angry. Never angry! Anger is the worst, the best way he gets in your head! Let it go, Milady, oh god please let it go! Breathe! Don’t do it, don’t give in! Please I can’t lose you again!”

Something sizzled and popped inside the yo-yo. La Coccinelle flicked it open, tipping out the ash that had once been an akuma.

“Angry? I’m not angry.”

Hellcat blinked at the scarlet and black heroine standing like an avenging angel against the night.

“I’m annoyed.”

Hellcat rolled on her back, hiccup-sob-laughing. “I’m so sorry…I blew it again...”

La Coccinelle knelt by her friend's head. “Hush. You did no such thing. You’re exhausted. When’s the last time you had a proper nights sleep?”

A very telling sigh. “August? Maybe?”

Knuckles wrapped in red fingerless gloves tapped on Hellcat's forehead, gently but disapproving. “Go and get some proper sleep. And stay home tomorrow.”

“But—”

“Stay. Home.” La Coccinelle sighed, gazing down at golden eyes. “You’re so tired you’re falling over, and that’s not good for either of us, is it?”

Laying on her back, Hellcat huffed, crossing her arms. “You get absolutely impossible when you go all rational.”

“I will carry you home and tie you to your bed!”

An impish grin. “Tease.”

La Coccinelle blinked at Hellcat's lascivious implication. “I was right.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re a terrible flirt.”

Hellcat tucked her hands under her chin like kitten paws. “Mew?”

“Stop that!”

*-*-*

Chloé lifted on the doorknob as she entered the bedroom she shared with her brother, keeping the old sheet steel hinges from squealing and giving her away. Adrien was already a silent lump in his upper bunk, a shadow against shadows. Padding on stocking feet, she crossed to her bunk, peeling out of her clothes, stripping to her panties and pulling on a mostly clean old singlet before sliding under her own duvet.

A long sigh, trying to release the fear and anxiety. God, she'd made an utter catastrophe of the entire night. 

“You’re lucky dad is pulling double-duty night shift.” Adrien. And not happy.

‘Oh Merde!’, Chloé thought. “You’re not gonna rat me out?” Hesitant. Defensive.

Adrien's spare pillow ‘whump'-ed her in the face, launched in an underhand swing born of long practice.

“You're my sister. I love you, I’m supposed to worry about you, but honestly, Chlo, between your sleep issues and now creeping around and disappearing? Get. Some. Help!”, Adrien fumed. “Juleka and her mom lost their shit when you disappeared from the shop during the storm. You owe them one hell of an apology.”

“You know how storms freak me out…”, Chloé whined.

A sigh from above. “That’s bullshit. You hide when a storm hits. You don’t vanish.”

Adrien. Swearing. Definitely not good.

Silence.

“You're not asleep. I know what you sound like when you're asleep", Adrien observed.

“Cali—Madame Busti—Goddamit! I mean, Madame Raincomprix said she’d email Daddy about me…maybe seeing someone”, Chloé relayed in a small voice. “And crazy pills.”

Another sigh, then the shadow of Adrien's upside-down face hanging over the edge of the bed. “You’re not crazy. Sad, yeah. Okay, we can deal with that. But you can’t go sneaking off, okay? Talk to me, let me know what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Chloé crossed her arms over her face. “You’re gonna laugh at me. And then you’ll know I’m crazy.”

Adrien scoffed. “Can’t be any worse than when you were sure a magic troll lived under the bed.”

“You shut up about him! I still can’t be sure he’s not there, waiting to grab my ankles!”

Silence.

“Gah! Fine!”, Chloé finally groaned from behind her arms. “I’m in love! Your stupid sister is in love! Head over heels! The whole stupid falling cherry blossom petal thing! I’m in love, and I can’t sleep, and my head is a crazy, fu—screwed up mess!”

“Huh.”

“It’s…”, Chloé glanced at the clock glowing in the dark, “three-ten in the morning, I’ve just confessed a secret to you, and all you say is: ‘Huh’. Thanks for nothing, Adrien!”

“Please tell me it’s not Kim…”

“That muscle-bound tank brain?!”, Chloé scoffed, offended. “Please! Give me some credit.”

A car sighed by in the street.

“Anyone I know?”

“… I don’t think so?”, Chloé admitted.

“What are they like?”

“She’s brave. And kind. Supportive. A good listener. Strong, in here", Chloé tapped over her heart. “And…”

“And?”

Chloé sighed, comforted at the memory. “And she has the most amazing blue eyes…Just…gorgeous.”

“She pretty?”

Chloé groaned, embarrassed. “God, yes!”

Adrien rolled over, disappearing. “Cool. I look forward to meeting her”, he yawned. “Alya invited me to her practice gig Friday. Bring your girlfriend.” 

Chloé snuggled under her duvet after poking the pillows into an acceptably comfortable cradle for her head, closing her eyes, imagining herself dancing with her perfect partner. One with shimmering blue-black hair and those amazing sapphire eyes….Friday seemed so ridiculously long to wait…

Friday.

Chloé sat up suddenly. “Wait! FRIDAY?! That’s only two days away!”

“It’s tomorrow, technically”, Adrien sighed, annoyed. “Goodnight. Chloé.”


	7. Madness or Passion

Andre Bourgeois rolled over in the cold queen size bed, bleary of eye and pasty of mouth. He didn’t hate double night shift.

He loathed it.

Two weeks to look forward to broken sleep, irritability, bad food, and trying to keep the house running. Okay, yes, the kids had been a lot better of late. What he didn’t need was a busybody do-gooder telling him his daughter was having problems.

Adrien was Adrien. The boy never got in trouble, so Andre pretty much let him be free range. 

It was his precious Chloé he worried about. Not sleeping, even more irritable than usual. 

He wondered if Capitaine DuPain's daughter was as much of a challenge. 

Scoffing, the middle-aged police brigadier flipped aside the bedclothes and sat up, running fingers through the grey widow’s peak of his hair. Much more of this and his retirement plan wasn’t going to matter.

Shuffling downstairs in pajamas and a housecoat, the elder Bourgeois found the note Adrien had left for him. Chloé staying home not feeling well, will bring her assignments home. Emilie would have been so proud of him. Andre reheated a plate of last night’s meal, most of a pot of cheese scalloped potatoes over hamburger goulash. A third was still left over.

His princess really wasn’t feeling well.

Quiet conversation from the living room. The Tin Woodsman and Dorothy, discussing brains.

“How are you feeling, precious?”

Chloé stirred under the old duvet, the one Emilie used to wrap her in when she was feeling poorly, occupying the full length of the sagging couch, the Wizard of Oz reflected in her clear blue eyes.

“I’m okay, Daddy. Just really, really tired, I guess.”

Andre grunted mild agreement. “That happens when you don’t sleep for the better part of a month.”

A sniffle, then a sigh. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Plate of food in hand, Andre wandered over to stroke his daughter's fine blonde hair. “You didn’t, princess. I was hungry.”

The Cowardly Lion sang about courage in the background as Andre’s food started to go cold.

“Did you read Madame Raincomprix’s email?” A small scared voice.

Andre’s annoyed grunt confirmed he had. “Sabrina’s mother should mind her own business.”

“I…I think she might be right, Daddy", Chloé said after a shuddering intake of breath. “I’m…I don’t think I’m right in the head.”

Andre scooped up a forkful of cheese-layered potato, put it in his mouth, chewing in silence as he thought it through.

‘Fuck it’, he nodded to himself. Retiring to run a bar on the Riviera could wait. “I’ll find the money in the budget, baby.”

“I can get a part-time job!”, Chloé offered, startled. “That’s why I bought the bike! I’ll be a bike courier!”

Andre bent over to kiss his daughter on the forehead. She was definitely too warm. “If you want to do part-time, I won't stop you. But your money is your money. We'll make ends meet, don’t worry. Get some sleep. My princess is a growing girl.”

*-*-*

Adrien let himself in as quietly as he could, dodging around Chloé’s new bike. And later than he had planned. He and Alya were definitely going to have to come to an agreement about who walked who home on which days. Dad’s duty jacket was still on its hook, but he could hear the shower running. Starting supper would have to wait.

Wondering if Chloé had fallen asleep in front of the television again, Adrien looked into the front room.

His sister was asleep, dead to the world. On the couch. Sort of. And draped over the ottoman. Mostly. Head back, hanging off the edge. Twisted at the hips, left leg on the back of the sofa, bare foot poking up, casting a shadow from the slash of sun coming through the window.

The tip of her tongue poked out between pink lips.

There was no way he was not taking a picture of this!

Chloé jerked awake at the sound of the shutter, flailing limbs like a startled cat, trying to right herself, “Wah!” she yelped, wide-eyed, before landing rump first with a ‘thud’ on the floor. 

“Goddamnit, sunshine child you delete that right now!”

“Not a chance!”, Adrien laughed.

Chloé yanked the duvet off the couch, trying to throw the amorphous mass like a net, completely failing to ensnare her troublesome sibling as he dodged, thundering up the stairs, Chloé in pursuit. 

“I’ll murder you in your sleep!”, Chloé howled as their bedroom door slammed shut. “YOU OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW, YOU SCATTERBRAINED—”

“Language, Chloé!” Daddy. In his bathrobe, electric razor in hand, grey hair tangled and damp, standing in the door to the bathroom. 

Chloé’s forehead banged into the bedroom door in embarrassment. “Sorry, Daddy.”

“If you’re going to kill your brother, do it quietly. Neighbors.”

Well after sunset, supper made and eaten after their father had departed for his shift, the dishes washed and put away, Chloé sat on the floor, back against the front of the couch with her knees drawn up, a bowl of the last of the strawberry ice cream in the house in one hand, spoon in the other, watching an utterly ridiculous Japanese game show, Adrien stretched out on his left side on the couch, head propped up on his left arm. 

“Don’t the contestants ever injure themselves?”, Adrien wondered idly.

“No freaking idea…”, Chloé nodded. 

The television was the only light on in the house.

“People missed you at school today."

Chloé scoffed noncommittally. “Sabrina—”

“Actually asked if you were alright.”

“Oh.”

The Japanese game show ended, incomprehensible credits flashing on the screen before the French translation.

“I’m gonna grab a shower before bed", Adrien announced, sitting up and swiveling his legs over Chloé’s head as she ducked in a move born of practice.

“’Kay.”

Adrien padded upstairs, flicking on the hallway light, Chloé rising and moving to the kitchen when she heard the shower start, stepping around the small red-flecked white formica-topped dining table and its cracked vinyl upholstered chairs in the half light. Pausing. Then rinsing out her ice cream bowl with hot water.

“Goddamnit, Chloé!!”

*-*-*

Chloé actually managed a passable rolling dismount of her bike this time as she wheeled up to the school. Having the bike was definitely a plus in the mobility column, but she missed walking with her brother.

Locking the bike to the rack, and slinging her yellow and black helmet by its strap from her arm, Chloé jogged up the steps to the front door, proceeding to the locker room. 

Sabrina was waiting for her, right foot tapping in impatience, arms crossed, scowling. “You’re back. Good. I’d better not fail this module because of you!”

“ ‘Hi, Chloé, nice to see you, how are you feeling?’ is how most people greet their friends when they miss a day", the pretty blonde snapped, staring into her open locker.

Sabrina scoffed. “Fine. How are you feeling?”

Chloé slammed her locker door. “Unappreciated!”

“Wha—?”

“Oh, go drape yourself over Felix why don’t you!”

Sabrina was astounded, silenced by Chloé’s outburst.

Seeing the hurt in the teen heiress' eyes, Chloé relented. “Look, I’m not really myself these days. I…” A pause, looking out the high window, then the floor. “I’ve got a bunch of problems, and it’s not your fault, and I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“I…I haven’t seen you since before Hellcat saved me from the pigeon pervert”, Sabrina explained quietly. “Nobody wants to talk to me about her. Well, nobody but that pushy Alya.”

Chloé regarded her ginger-haired friend silently. “I thought you and Alya got along. Sure seemed like it at the start of term.”

“Felix says—”

“Stop right there!”, Chloé barked, blue eyes flashing. “Anytime a boy, anyone, starts telling you who can or can’t be your friends, dump the jerk!”

“Aren’t you telling me who should be my friend?”

“Touché”, Chloé nodded. “Up to you.”

Sabrina blew a strand of red hair out of her eyes. “This is stupid, arguing over a boy.”

A sigh from Chloé as she reached out. “Jean Whats-his-name never gets your bow-tie straight. Utterly ridiculous. There.”

“Merci", Sabrina preened, and immediately touched the straightened bow-tie, knocking it askew again before strutting off to class.

Closing her eyes, Chloé muttered “Every single time… Why do I bother?”

Tablet in hand, Chloé set out for Madame Raincomprix’s office to turn in her absence note for the previous day, heading for the stairs to the second floor closer to the administration wing, by-passing the narrower spiral steps almost no-one used.

Only to be abruptly yanked into the alcove.

“We need to talk!”, a disheveled Marinette DuPain-Cheng hissed, looking around conspiratorially. “Can we talk? I think it’s a good idea if we had a talk.”

Chloé peered at Marinette. Shadows under eyes, hair looking like she'd just rolled out of bed, and dressed haphazardly. “Are you alright, DuPain-Cheng?”

“Me? I’m fine! Why wouldn’t I be fine? Fine fine fine, right as rain, that’s me!”, the blue-nette giggled nervously, hands held stiffly in front of herself. “Haven’t missed any sleep at all! None!” Her hands sliced sideways simultaneously in denial.

“Who said anything about you losing sleep? Marinette, what’s gotten into you?”, Chloé hissed, leaning closer, not wanting to be overheard.

“Why should I be losing sleep? It’s only two nights, I can make it up on the weekend! Are you busy this weekend?”, Marinette babbled, tugging at one of her ponytails.

“Uhh…” Chloé paused, concerned and confused. “Actually, Adrien has invited me to come along to Alya's practice gig tonight, and I need a ‘plus one' to…it’s…it’s stupid and complicated…”

Marinette laughed abruptly, hands behind her head. “You’re asking me out? You can’t!” Arms spread, exasperated. “Because we’re already...late at night…You weren't here yesterday and I told her to stay home because she was exhausted, and you're so pretty and I do like boys but I kissed you while you were sleeping, kitty—”

The coin dropped for Chloé and the color drained from her face.

Marinette was her La Coccinelle. And she had figured out Chloé was Hellcat.

“This is a disaster…”, Chloé whispered, numb.

“You’re telling me! I thought I liked boys” Marinette swept her hands to one side, “Really, really liked boys”, hands chopping in mid-air, staccato, “But I think about you and…and…and, oh what the hell!” She threw both hands in the air, almost smacking Chloé in the nose. “I’m going for it!”

That was all the warning Chloé had before she was yanked by her hoodie into a clumsy right-on-the-lips kiss.

Shock. Confusion. 

Familiarity.

Her. It was her. 

Her Mari.

Chloé’s arms, initially stiff and spread in surprise, drifted around Marinette, the clumsy first kiss becoming something more, passionate and tender, fingers gently stroking the fine hair on the back of Marinette's neck, eyes closed.

Strawberries. She still tasted like strawberries.

“Wow. I thought you were straight and I was making a huge mistake—”, Marinette whispered in a sigh when they broke the kiss but not the embrace.

Chloé chuckled, backs of the fingers of her right hand stroking Marinette's cheek. “I think I’m about as straight as a corkscrew.”

“Are we…?” Hesitation in those eyes. Those impossible blue eyes. And those unfairly long dark lashes.

“Think you can be ready by five tonight?” Promise in Chloé’s smile.

Marinette nodded shyly. “Uh-huh.” She stepped back, hesitant. 

And covered her face with both hands and an embarrassed groan. “Omigod, I didn’t even ask if I could kiss you. Did you want to be kissed? I can try again if you like! It was my first time—"

Chloé smirked in amusement. “It was fine, yes, and we can kiss whenever you want.”

“Umm…so…we could? Right now?” Marinette blushed, tapping the tips of her index fingers together.

Chloé rolled her eyes, smiling, indulgent. “Yes, you hot mess”, taking both of Marinette's hands, leaning in to taste her lips again…

The school-bell over their heads rang without warning, Marinette jumping.

“GODDAMMIT!!”, Chloé vented at the interruption, eyes closed, fists clenched. “C'mon. We’re gonna be late.”

The blue-nette stood there, blinking, dazed.

“Hey! Dee-Cee!”, Chloé snapped her fingers in front of Marinette’s nose. “We’re gonna be late!”

“…Huh?”

Chloé tugged her newly-minted girlfriend's hand, leading her to class. “Oh, this is ridiculous!”


	8. Dance in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Don't Get Me Wrong' lyrics copyright Christie Hynde.

Plagg, ageless and eternal incarnation of the concept of Destruction (capitalized, thank you very much), brooded within the infinitesimally miniscule dimensions of his present abode, awaiting only the opportunity to escape his confinement to wreak unimaginable havoc upon the very fabric of existence.

He was also going to give his present master and Miraculous holder a piece of his mind in a good stern talking to.

Without warning, the portal to the world beyond yawned open, light flooding the ebony void of his dismal sanctum. This was his chance!

*-*-*

“Would it kill ya to empty out that disaster you call a purse?”, Plagg complained as he flitted behind Chloé while she fussed with her hair, peering at the bathroom mirror that was slowly shedding flecks of silver.

“If you have a point, mouse-breath, please make it", Chloé muttered as she made her third annoying attempt to fasten her fine blonde hair in a loose ponytail secured by narrow twin braids pulled back from her temples. “I’m in kind of a hurry for a special occasion.”

Plagg floated immediately in front of Chloé’s face, frowning. “Y’see, kid, that’s just it! You don’t make any time for me! You whistle me up, wham-bam-change-you-ma'am, a little bit of wanton property damage, and what do I get? Not even a whiff of Fromage Americain, let alone some proper room-temperature Camembert! ”

“Let me get through this date and I’ll buy you a box of Éppoises de Bourgogne", Chloé promised, wishing she had a decorative hair comb.

Plagg paused his eternal orbit, squinting suspiciously. “Let me get this straight. I help you romance Miss Pigtails, who knows who you are by the way, which infinitely increases the danger you're in, and you get me a cheese so stinky it’s banned on public transportation?”

A distracted nod in reply. “Mm-Hmm.”

Dreams of chaos and crowds stampeding to escape their doomed fate flitted though Plagg’s perception. “Y'know, kid, you might be foolishly risking life and limb when you transform, but I gotta say I like the way you think!”

Hair finally in place, Chloé tended to her makeup with a light touch, enhancing rather than decorating. Leaning closer to the reflective surface to inspect a minor blemish Chloé jumped when two things happened:

Adrien pounded on the bathroom door, loudly informing her it was almost time to depart and to hurry up.

And the cut-rate florescent lightbulb over the mirror failed, an odd squealing hiss before the light emitted a brief silvery blue-violet radiance that made her blue eyes glow purple while a small luminous yellowish-lime green sigil suggestive of an organic molecule formula appeared just below the outer corner of her left eye before the light failed, plunging the room into a dull orange gloom.

Chloé blinked. She’d have to take a closer look later.

Clattering down the stairs, fastening her earring as her father was talking to Adrien, who was dressed almost presentably, instructing him that they were to both to be home no later than half-past midnight before handing Adrien a hundred Euros for cab fare and incidentals to be shared.

The elder Bourgeois was just about to depart for his shift when someone rang the doorbell. 

Standing on the doorstep was Marinette DuPain-Cheng, hands behind her back, bouncing slightly on her toes, looking tired, slightly apprehensive, and more than a little frantic. Dove grey tights under a knee-length white dress with a pale grey and ballet pink poppy motif around the hem, under a fashionably faded grey denim jacket, her shimmering blue-black hair free from its customary twin short pigtails.

“Bonjour, Brigadier Bourgeois…”

Chloé swallowed in a dry throat. Marinette was absolutely gorgeous.

“Wait, I thought you said I didn’t know your girlfriend", Adrien blurted as he looked around their father, confused.

“Girlfriend?”, their father inquired half-turning to look at his princess, eyebrow raised. 

“Gotta run, Daddy! We’re late! Love you!”, Chloé rushed out the door, bright yellow cardigan flapping over her black knit knee-length ‘A’-line dress, catching Marinette by the elbow to spin her around and march in the direction of the local RATP bus stop. 

“Uh, I—I didn’t know what kind of flowers you like so I brought you this…” Marinette shoved what could charitably be described as a small bouquet of honey sticks at Chloé, making her slow the frantic pace. 

Chloé paused, looking at Marinette, frown of embarrassment softening. “Umm…merci”, she accepted the gift. “I…I wanted to get you a rose, but I’d spent all my money on my bike. But I’m gonna be a bike courier, so I’ll be able to take you out soon!” 

While they were talking, Adrien had caught up to them, more than a bit chagrined. “Dad says you forgot your house key”, he said, holding the item out to her. “And your purse.”

“Hmm. Doesn’t do a thing for you in that outfit”, Chloé smirked as her brother slipped free of the narrow strap, making Marinette giggle.

“You’re just jealous because I’ve got nicer legs.”

“Brother dear, I’ve see Poulet Cordon Bleu with more meat on their thighs”, Chloé deadpanned.

*-*-*

They could hear the Césaire family home before they could see it on the short walk from the RATP stop. Colored spotlights clamped to an open truss-work frame above a stage pulsed and flashed in time to the throbbing beat of old school disco music beneath a cable-suspended glittering innumerably-faceted ball, and a small crowd composed mostly of students and a handful of adults clustered and milled, plastic cups in hand on the barge deck cum dance floor.

Adrien preceded Chloé and Marinette down the flexing hand-rail guarded gang plank onto the river-borne abode, Chloé shyly taking Marinette's hand. There was a huge difference between going out and coming out.

Chloé smirked as Adrien was intercepted by a grinning, casually dressed Alya, who had traded leather jacket for a red plaid flannel shirt over a white tee-shirt for the night, a classic Gibson SG electric guitar slung on her back by its strap.

“You’re late!”, Alya gently chided her beau, bumping foreheads with him as her hands slid around his hips, hooking her thumbs through his beltloops. “I was starting to wonder if an akuma was causing trouble.”

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck. “No akuma. Just a sister who hogs the bathroom.”

“Ugh. Tell me about it", the Martiniquan girl rolled her eyes with a knowing smile. “I gotta hit the stage. You'll be front and center?” 

Adrien nodded, grinning as Alya sashayed away through the crowd after a teasing kiss, a sway in her hips.

“Down, boy!”, Chloé murmured, smiling at her brother's happiness as they made their way to in front of the stage.

A brief squeal of feedback as Alya tapped the mic. Behind her, Juleka Couffaine, in full lace-trimmed Lolita goth attire, wearing a tiny topper, plugged in a restored original 1958 Gibson Flying V bass stained a rich iridescent violet, while Mylène Haprèle, clad in faded black combat pants and black tank-top, mounted the drum set riser, drumstick twirling in her fingers with practiced ease. Rose Agreste, face paled by makeup, a black star around her left eye, wearing a pink and black striped baby doll jumper and high black Doc Martin boots, powered up her stacked dual Korg Pa1000 electric piano and synthesizer.

“Uh, hi", Alya announced herself after plugging in her guitar, strumming a quick three part chord. “I wanna thank all of you for coming, ‘specially on short notice. This was supposed to be a practice gig and jam, but Someone, not naming names, Papa, decided to make this a launch party instead—”

“If I can’t promote my own daughter, I’m in the wrong business", Otto Césaire boomed with grinning pride from the bridge cum soundbooth, as Nino adjusted the sound levels. 

Alya rolled her eyes. Parents. “As I was saying, I’m Alya, hi, and we're ‘Yesterday's Child'!”

Two quick fingersnaps for tempo, tapping her foot, Alya started playing, Mylène falling into a bouncy kick-drum driven backbeat, as Juleka swayed and bobbed as the bass line thumped under her fingers. Rose bumped her hips, hands at the ready over her keyboards, keeping time for now.

“Don’t get me wrong", Alya crooned in a pleasant throaty alto,  
If I’m acting kind of dazzled,   
I see neon lights  
Whenever you walk by…”

Chloé bobbed in time, smiling, hips swaying, pulling Marinette close, hand in hand, arm around her girlfriend's hips, turning them out in front of the stage in a fast foxtrot.

“What are you doing?!”, Marinette squawked, startled, blue eyes going wide. “I don’t know how to dance!”

“Then I’ll lead", Chloé smiled.

“Don’t get me wrong,  
If you say ‘hello’ and I take a ride  
Upon a sea where the mystic moon  
Is playin' havoc with tides,  
Don’t get me wrong…”

Rose's electric piano chimed in, the notes shimmering silver in the tune, counterpointing the rich guitar and bass.

Marinette glanced down, trying not to step on Chloé’s toes as she attempted to match and mirror the blonde’s flicking steps.

“Don’t get me wrong,   
If I’m acting so distracted.  
I’m thinkin' about the fireworks  
That go off when you smile...”

“Don't get me wrong,   
If I split like light refracted,  
I’m only off to wander  
Across a moonlit mile…”

Chloé opened the set, spinning Marinette out, skirt twirling, pulling her back, Marinette turning under her arm, smiling at her blonde girlfriend. In the crowd, Madame Raincomprix, Caline, bumped her hips and pumped her arms in time, drink cup in hand, eyes closed, lips pursed, lost In the music, enjoying the moment of relative freedom.

“Once in a while, two people meet", Alya sang, looking right at Adrien, plucking the notes on her guitar,  
“Seemingly for no reason   
They just pass on the street.  
Suddenly thunder, showers everywhere,  
Who can explain the thunder and rain?  
There’s something in the air…”

The guitar called out plaintive notes under Alya's fingers, answered and echoed by Rose’s electric piano, as Juleka's bass bumped the low notes, contrasted by Mylène’s snare drum, tom-tom and kick-drum thumping a quick-step.

Chloé and Marinette stalked the dance floor in a tango step, legs flashing, heads high, sky blue and sapphire eyes locked on each other, cheeks flushed, panting slightly in excitement.

“Don’t get me wrong”, Alya pleaded, amber eyes closed, sultry, seductive and heartfelt,  
If I come and go like fashion.  
I might be great tomorrow,  
But hopeless yesterday…”

Rose's second keyboard kicked in, synthesized notes sounding, Mylène’s kick-drum thudding double time, cymbals crashing.

“Don’t get me wrong,  
If I fall in the mode of fashion.  
It might be unbelievable,  
But let’s not say…‘so long',  
It might just be fan-tastic!  
Don’t get me wrong.”

A reprising, rising flourish of Alya's guitar, crashing piano, and syncopated drumbeat as the song closed, Chloé and Marinette spinning out a fast-stepping ceilidh swing, blonde and blue-black hair flying, that left them panting and pink-cheeked, grinning at each other as the last notes faded away into the Paris night.

“Ohmigod, baby, you did so good!”, Chloé congratulated a trembling Marinette, rewarding her with a sincere, passionate kiss, tongue flicking out, tasting salt sweat and strawberry on soft lips. Neither of them cared half the school population might have been watching.

A flicker of motion caught Chloé’s eye. Caline, no, she was Madame Raincomprix this time, grinning, raising a red plastic cup in smiling salute as the kiss continued, Marinette sighing happily as Chloé returned her complete attention to the task at hand.

Alya and Yesterday's Child ran through half a dozen more numbers, Chloé dancing with or for a visibly smitten Marinette, before taking a break, hunting down Adrien and shyly taking his hand as they congratulated Marinette and Chloé on their new couple status.

The launch party was deemed a success when a police car rolled up to the riverside and Otto Césaire produced his permit for the event, relaying in a loud voice and no uncertain terms that he had spoken to the Mayor, Roger Raincomprix, personally, and if the police didn’t cease and desist harassing him he would unleash his pet ocelot, Sweetie by name, on them. Chloé was mortified when she recognized her father and his hulking silent partner.

“Sweetie isn’t an ocelot, and Papa knows better", Alya scoffed. “She’s a savannah cat and about as threatening as Rose.”

Wandering over to the stage as the celebration began to break up, hand in hand with Marinette (partly to keep the visibly exhausted blue-nette from kneeling over), Chloé asked Juleka who was perched on the edge of the stage, legs dangling, why she played bass.

A quiet smile as Juleka passed her pride and joy to Chloé, showing her how to hold it and strum a chord, before powering up the amplifier and adjusting the volume.

Chloé strummed the chord as she'd been shown, the note reverberating in her hips.

“Oh.” A moment to process. “OHHH!”

Juleka laughing, Marinette grinning as a bright red flush spread on Chloé's cheeks.

“And that’s why I don’t sit on the subs when Juleka is practicing”, Rose announced as she kicked out both legs, landing beside the elegant goth princess with a dainty ‘thud', handing her a bottle of water, uncapping and sipping from her own. 

“When did you join the band?”, Marinette blinked sleepily, leaning against Chloé.

Rose shrugged. “The day Stormy threw her tantrum. I mentioned to ‘Leka I’d been playing piano since I was an infant, and they had me try out yesterday, liked what they heard, and spent most of yesterday after school recording.”

“What does Mylène think?”, Chloé inquired, arm around her very sleepy girlfriend.

“Mylène thinks she finally can get a break and experiment with some new beats", the petite zaftig girl nodded, beaming a good-natured smile as she squatted beside her bandmates. “You two make a cute couple.”

*-*-*

Hand in hand, the taxi idling at the curb, Chloé and Marinette dawdled their way up to the blue frame and panel front door of the DuPain-Cheng residence, where a single lamp shone in a downstairs window. Marinette, stumbling only moderately, leaned against Chloé, who looked up at the moon.

Pausing on the top step, Chloé took a moment to gaze at the young woman in front of her, a fading echo of one of her former lives astounded she was being kind to her one-time bullying victim. That whisper was drowned out by subtle memory of lazy Sunday mornings lounging in their large bed.

“It’s late, Dee Cee", Chloé smiled. “But not so late I can’t kiss you goodnight.”

“Hmm!”, Marinette mugged in quiet joy, eyes closed, more than half asleep, nuzzling Chloé's neck and shoulder, hands tucked close between them. “Come cuddle, kitty”, she mumbled.

Hand under Marinette's chin, Chloé tipped her head back, claiming a gentle kiss. “You really do need sleep, milady. I’ll call you when I get home, ‘kay?”

“’Kay…”, Marinette turned and collided with the door, then trying to open it. The latch turned from inside, Madame DuPain-Cheng opening the door, wrapped in a red satin Oriental housecoat.

Chloé bobbed a polite, startled nod of her head in greeting. “Home before midnight!”, Chloé blurted by way of explanation as Marinette practically fell through the door, leaning against her mother.

“Thank you, Chloé”, Sabine smiled. “Did you two have a good time?”

“Uh huh", the slender blonde nodded. “We danced, she’s really good at it, I think we should take lessons together because I’m gonna be a bike courier so I’ll have money to pay for them and oh god I’m babbling, aren’t I?”, Chloé grinned nervously.

Marinette’s mother arched an eyebrow. “Is there some silly ‘net challenge to see how long you can stay awake?”

“Uh-uh!”, Chloé shook her head, eyes wide in innocence, blonde ponytail flipping. 

Sabine smiled, supporting her slumping daughter. “Good night, Chloé. Get some sleep.”

“Oui, Madame.” Chloé stumbled down the front steps back to the taxi.

*-*-*

Adrien was sound asleep in the upper bunk.

Nestled in her bed, Chloé debated with herself. She said she would call Marinette when she got home. But the ringtone would wake her. A text? Ridiculous. Too impersonal. But the arrival notification would be less likely to awaken her girlfriend. A video message was the best option. She activated the camera.

“I had a ridiculously good time with you tonight, Mari. Sleep well, sweetie. I’ll be dreaming of you.” A pause, then softly, “I love you.” 

Chloé saved, then sent the message, waiting for the ‘ping' confirming delivery, then set her cellphone aside and snuggled deeper in her narrow bed, eyes drifting closed. Content.

Two glowing emerald slitted eyes peered down at Chloé from the blackness of the room. 

“So, duchess. I remember you promised me a very specific cheese…”


	9. Perchance to Dream

Three weeks.

Three long, exhausting, exciting, incredible, frequently terrifying and glorious weeks since she had become the holder of a Miraculous. 

She'd been right of course. The akuma sightings and attacks had become more numerous and frequent. And some of them had been people she knew and cared about.

Those were the worst. Because she had to hold back, not use all of the strength her Miraculous granted her, and that made the fights harder, longer, more destructive, and more dangerous. They’d almost lost more than once.

At least having a girlfriend who supported her and understood made things a little bit easier. Even if said girlfriend was moody, frequently irritable with others, and could use a wickedly sharp tongue at times, especially when tired. Or stressed.

And why did her girlfriend's brother have to be so damned cute?!

Marinette DuPain-Cheng, only child of Tom DuPain and Sabine Cheng, flopped back on her double bed with a groan. 

“What’s wrong, Marinette?”, Tikki, the spirit of her Miraculous, inquired while munching on a chocolate chip cookie from Couffaine Confections, perched on the edge of Marinette's nightstand.

“I’m tired!”, the pig-tailed blue-nette complained, holding both hands straight up from the shoulder. “Papillion has been on a tear recently. Akuma, day after day, some days two or more, one after the other or teaming up. I’m beat! You hardly get a chance to recharge before another akuma pops up.”

Marinette rolled over on her stomach, propping up her chin in both hands. “I haven’t been drawing, and I miss Chloé”, she pouted.

“You saw Chloé at school today, and you went on your fifth date three days ago on the weekend", the diminutive red spirit chided. “You knew being the holder of a Miraculous came with responsibilities when you agreed to become a hero.”

“I know, I know…”, Marinette sighed, partly in frustration, right index fingertip doodling on the folds of her duvet. “It’s just hard to get anything done or commit to plans with my friends because of Papillion and his stupid akumas!”

As if in answer to her complaint given voice to the universe, her phone pinged, the akuma warning app sounding it’s alarm before the small torrent of text messages and a similar deluge of email notifications on her laptop.

Marinette yanked one of her pillows over her face and screamed for a full thirty seconds.

*-*-*

Tonight’s akuma victim was three things.

Inventive.

Vindictive.

And worst of all, at least to La Coccinelle’s thinking, was that Pixelator was annoying. Really, really annoying. Not the least of which was his single-minded pursuit of attempting to capture renowned and highly reclusive fashion designer and former male model Jagged Stone who was residing in a suite at the Grand Paris Hotel. 

Pixelator had reduced several dozen hotel guests and staff to digitally stored images in his helmet mounted camera before Hellcat had finally managed to trick the villain into trying to capture her while the black-clad heroine had stood in front large wall-mounted mirror, leaping aside at the last possible second so Pixelator captured himself. All that remained of the pest was his photographic headgear.

“So, uh, we have to break the thing to release the akuma, right?”, La Coccinelle queried, hesitant to touch the cursed item, nudging it with the toe of her boot. “I mean, what if we break it and all the people Pixelator captured…well, die?” 

Hellcat squatted on her heels, poking the camera headset with her Cat Staff. She knew the captured people were still alive. Because she'd been one of them. Once. Before. She sighed.

“If we don’t free them, the families will never know what happened to them", Hellcat said quietly, tired. “It’s…limbo. White nothing. Just…existence without reference. No-one with you. Nowhere to go. Nothing to do.” 

Hellcat stood, headset in hand. “Let’s do this and go home.”

The delicate device snapped easily in her taloned grip, the akuma fluttering free only for a moment before being captured and purified. The all-to-familiar rush of scarlet energy as La Coccinelle’s lucky charm restored everything.

And as had been the case for the past half-dozen akuma attacks, the media were already trying to get an exclusive.

The timers on their Miraculous beeped. Five minutes.

Fists bumped. 

“Usual place?”, La Coccinelle smirked.

Hellcat nodded. “I’ll bring the snacks.”

*-*-*

The city of Paris spread it's luminous nocturnal display like an ebony coverlet embroidered with brilliant gold thread. Glints and flickers of scarlet light from automobile taillights wending their way through the darkened streets far below, bearing their passengers to homes and late-night destinations Hellcat could only imagine.

She loved it up here. The silence. The calm.

“What's new, pussy-cat?”, La Coccinelle asked, dropping to the roof of Notre Dame Cathedral, striding along the sheet lead sheathing to where Hellcat sat with her back to one of the twin towers limestone wall, left knee bent, supporting her left arm as her right leg swung a lazy metronome from the knee, gazing out into the night.

“Not much”, Hellcat shrugged, flicking the clawed fingertips of her right hand at the city. “Just…thinking.”

“So tell me.” La Coccinelle sat on edge of the roof, legs crossed at the ankle, kicking slowly.

“Why should we just chase akuma?”, the golden-maned heroine inquired. “I mean, we’re super-heroes! We should helping people! Stopping robberies, things like that!“

La Coccinelle considered the concept for a moment. Why shouldn't they help others, the victims of everyday crimes? It was worth thinking about. “Maybe. Don’t know if I can do the whole ‘brooding over the city at night' thing though.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Still having bad dreams?”

Hellcat shook her head negative, eyes closed, pensive. “Not as often. Not as bad.”

That was a ‘yes' in La Coccinelle’s book. Better to let that sleeping dog lie for the moment. She reached out and took Hellcat's hand, fingers interlacing.

“Why do I see you more often like this, than…?”

Hellcat scoffed, dismissive. “Because Papillion is an asshole. Always has been. The only time I beat him was when I—” She cut herself off, right hand over her mouth, eyes closed. Trembling. 

“It’s okay, kitty", La Coccinelle leaned to kiss the knuckles of the hand she held. “I don’t need to know all your secrets.”

Wiping away a tear, Hellcat looked up, staring at the moon. La Coccinelle flicked a glanced at her partner, then looked up as well.

“It’s always a full moon. Every night. Every single night”, Hellcat observed.

A pause.

“Are you sure?”, La Coccinelle asked. “I mean, absolutely certain?” A glint of doubt, perhaps even fear in her eyes.

Hellcat nodded. “I’ve been watching for weeks.”

“That’s…creepy.”

“As weird as never seeing an airplane.”

“Kitty, you're starting to scare me”, La Coccinelle murmured.

“Oh good." A dark chuckle as Hellcat agreed ironically. “I was getting lonely over here all by myself.”

“Do you think it has something to do with that weird mark on your face the light caused?”

An ebony shrug in the dark. “Maybe? Wanna know something else strange?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Bugaboo, if I don’t talk to someone about this, I’ll think I really am crazy.”

La Coccinelle drew a deep breath, understanding. “Okay. Go on.”

“I went shopping, to see if I could find a lamp that would give off the same kind of light. I think it’s called ultra-violent—”

“Ultra-violet", La Coccinelle corrected.

“Smart ass. Don’t interrupt”, Hellcat chided. “In any case, they’re not available. Anywhere. From anyone.”

“Okay, that’s…weird. Not gonna lie.”

Silence, save for the sighing of the night breeze.

“We should head home.”

“Yeah…” Hellcat stood, stretching, yawning, then folded at the hips, stretching like her namesake.

La Coccinelle felt a pleasurable thrill flutter in her belly. ‘Down, girl!’, she smiled to herself.

A nuzzling kiss. “See you tomorrow?", Hellcat smiled.

Wrapping her arms around her super-hero girlfriend, La Coccinelle kissed Hellcat properly. “You know it. I’ll bring lunch for both of us.”

Hellcat stood, flicking her Cat Staff out, extending it to reach the ground far below. “Love you, girl.” Then she slid out of sight.

A soft chuckle, Marinette counted to five, then got up, slinging her yo-yo underhand out into the night, a quick tug to test it was secure, then a leaping swing, pulled forward as the line retracted. 

*-*-*

It was too warm in Chemistry class. Why did Professor Chauffeur always keep the temperature turned up in his classroom?

The academic in question was explaining the concept of polyvalent bonding in detail and at length in his subtle taunting , oh-so-superior measured tone, one hand behind his dark brown tweed-jacketed back, the other hand slowly stroking his luciferian black goatee, one eyebrow raised quizzically, daring some poor soul to question the received wisdom. His dramatic long black hair swept back from a notable widow’s peak, button-bright dark brown eyes above a sharp hawks-beak of a nose, alert for any sign of fading attention.

Chloé leaned on her left hand, supporting herself on the desktop, eyelids fluttering, trying to stay awake. “Mariiii…”, She whined quietly.

“What?!”, Marinette whispered, glancing up from her notes.

“ ‘M tired…”

That was all the warning she had before the pretty blonde softly collapsed, draping herself over her lab partner's thighs, right arm wrapping around Marinette's hips. Startled, blushing furiously, Marinette glanced around. “Wha-hah-hahaaa…”, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “What are you doing?! Chloé, people will think you're indecent…doing…things down there!! To me!!”

Chloé responded by rubbing her face in Marinette's lap. “Soft…comfy…”

A glance up confirmed Marinette's most horrific nightmares.

Utter silence in the classroom, Professor Chauffeur’s gimlet eye focused, riveted solely on the blushing blue-nette.

“I’m sure your mother will be most interested in the forthcoming explanation as to why you and Mademoiselle Bourgeois have forgone somnolence in the evening in preference to connubial practices in my classroom, don’t you think, DuPain-Cheng?”, Chauffeur inquired. “Until such time as you come up with a reasoned argument, you and *ahem*, Sleeping Beauty are to report to the administrator's office post-haste, there to remain until such time that you are collected by your respective parents. Good day.”

*-*-*

Madame Caline Raincomprix regarded the two girls in her office with a calm green-eyed gaze, legs crossed, fingers steepled in quiet contemplation. Both girls were visibly exhausted, Marinette blinking blearily, embarrassed, Chloé sound asleep, leaning against her girlfriend's shoulder as the two them sat on Caline's well-worn office couch, upholstered in wide, soft burgundy corduroy.

“The entire school has been buzzing for weeks about you two and your relationship", Caline nodded, raising a hand to forestall Marinette's defense or objections. “I really don’t care who either of you date, so long as you grades stay up and you attend your classes. We do prefer if you don’t sleep through classes or create a disturbance.”

“You’ve been sent to my office because apparently, that’s now an issue”, Madame Raincomprix observed. “I know from previous chats with Chloé she hadn't been sleeping well. Now then, care to tell me why you’re here?”

Marinette looked out the high office window, miserable. “Chloé fell asleep on me in class. In Chauffeur’s chemistry class. Does maman have to know about this? It’s not…Chloé, it’s not her fault!”

“I’ll have to tell your mother. School policy, I'm sorry”, Caline sighed. “Now, very unofficially and completely off the record, what’s going on?”

Marinette stared at Madame Raincomprix, eyes searching the older woman’s face. How much could she, should she tell her? Chloé slowly slumped into Marinette’s lap, tucking her legs up, peaceful. Marinette absently stroked her fine blonde hair.

“She…she still hasn’t been sleeping right”, Marinette began. “It’s not as bad as it was…and she’s been cycling everywhere, building up her strength, getting ready to start being an alley-ca—a bike courier.” Marinette smiled gently, looking down at her sleeping girlfriend. “She keeps thinking she needs to spoil me.”

“How have you been sleeping?”

A long, honest sigh. “Not great. Worrying about…”

Madam Raincomprix smiled, indulgent. “You’re both exhausted. Get some sleep.” Caline turned to write on a notepad on her desk. “Marinette, I believe you share a class with Adrien in last period. Take this note to him, please. I’ll wake you up after lunch.”

“Professor Chauffeur said we were to stay here until our parents picked us up…”, Marinette pouted, trying to stifle a yawn of her own.

“Chauffeur is an arrogant, pompous ass verging on creep", Madame Raincomprix grinned. “And I didn’t say that.”

“No, Madame…” Marinette leaned back on the couch, eyes closed.

Caline Raincomprix waited until both girls breathing said they were sound asleep, then lifted the phone handset on her desk, dialing a room number. Waited.

“Sabine? Caline. Marinette’s sleeping on my office couch. No, she’s fine…”

*-*-*

The rapid rhythm of her bike derailleur clicking quietly as she walked beside Adrien was oddly soothing. Her brother was walking with her, at her pace, holding hands with his girlfriend.

“You passed out in Chauffie's class?”, Alya wondered, looking around Chloé's brother.

“Please don’t remind me…”, the blonde grumbled.

“What happened with Marinette and her mom?”, Adrien inquired.

Chloé shrugged. “Dunno. Nothing, I guess. She texted me she’d call later, so I guess she’s not grounded or anything.” 

“Dad’s not gonna be happy…”

A grunt of quiet resignation to her fate from Chloé. “Probably not.”

Chloé’s phone pinged its notification of a text arriving. “Speak of the devil”, she groaned after checking who has sent the message. “Early bed time, no dates with Mari during school nights for two weeks. Merde!”

“Not as bad as it could have been", Adrien sympathized.

“Guess not…”

The faded door to their rental home loomed at the top of the short flight of steps.

“When will dad be home?”, Adrien inquired, glancing at Alya.

“He's doing afternoon swing, so eight or so?”, Chloé recalled, lifting her bike onto her shoulder while she unlocked the front door, opening it.

Adrien glanced at Alya. “Wanna stay for supper?”

“I’ll call home and let them know I’ll be late", Alya smiled, pulling out her cellphone.


	10. Devil in the Details

Marinette smiled coyly as she recognized the silhouette of the person dressed in their signature yellow hoodie and faded black jeans as they stood with their back to her in the school hallway, hood pulled up, chatting to Alya and the members of her rock band, ‘Yesterday's Child’.

Approaching quietly from behind, Marinette slipped her arms around the trim waist in a familiar, affectionate embrace. “Hey, girlfriend. Got a kiss for me?”

“Can I make sure Alya’s cool with it first?” Adrien's voice, sounding just ever so slightly smug.

“Oh no…”, Marinette squeaked. There was no way this ended well.

Giggles from Alya and her bandmates.

“A-Hem!” 

Chloé. Behind her. 

“I’m sure you have an amazing explanation.”

“Ch-Ch-Chloé—I, ah, ha-ha”, Marinette panicked, “I, um, have a really good reason why I’m standing here hugging your brother but it’s not what you think and I’m totally not sneaking around on you because I think your brother’s cute I mean he is cute but that's not why I’m hugging him and I should really let go of him now but I’m not and it’s only making it worse—"

The pig-tailed blue-nette went silent when she felt her girlfriend's hand on her shoulder. 

“I was wondering why I couldn’t find my favorite hoodie, Brother Dearest”, Chloé said quietly. “Now you’ve gone and flustered Marinette. She’s going to be utterly ridiculous for the rest of the day.”

“Uh…Marinette?”, Alya spoke up.

“Oui?”

“Mind letting go of my boyfriend?”

Marinette somehow managed to go pale and blush at the same time. “Omigod I’m so sorry Alya yes I’ll let go of him but Chloé is right here and she saw me hug Adrien and now you’re looking at me hug him and I should totally let go but now you’re here and she’s here and I'm here still hugging Adrien and oh god I’m babbling aren’t I—”

Chloé’s left hand slid along Marinette’s left forearm until she reached her hand. “Amusing as this is, Mari, let go of Alya’s chewtoy.”

Nervous chuckles as Marinette unwound her arms from around Adrien’s waist.

“I thought it was you, from behind", Marinette apologised over her shoulder to Chloé.

“My ass isn’t that flat”, her blonde girlfriend smirked. “We better get to class before your mom marks us late. And Adrien?”

Her brother swallowed nervously. “Yeah?”

“I want my hoodie back. I’m freezing.”

*-*-*

Lunchtime.

The weather has definitely turned to more typically autumnal, with grey skies and frequent rain squalls, limiting opportunities to lounge in the park across the street or the banks of the Seine two blocks away with her brother and their friends, so Chloé picked at her school cafeteria green salad. Marinette sat beside her, jittery and out of sorts.

“Will you calm down, Dee-Cee?”, Chloé said before consuming a forkful of unimpressive salad.

“You’re not the one caught…I’m sorry, Chloé!”, Marinette fussed.

Chloé chewed for a moment before answering. “What are you apologising for?”

“I was hugging Adrien!” Chloé watched as Marinette’s fingers twisted and pulled at her paper napkin in embarrassment.

“Oui. And?”

“And you should be angry! Because I was hugging Adrien because I thought it was you—“, Marinette’s hands darted to one side, then the other as she tried to rationalise her feelings.

“Why would I be angry over an honest mistake?”, the pony-tailed blonde inquired.

“Be-cause I really do think your brother is cute…?”, Marinette confessed quietly, hands in her lap, deflated.

“He better be attractive", Chloé smirked, poking at her salad again. “He has an amazing, gorgeous, and talented twin sister—"

“Who is taking far too much delight in making her girlfriend twist in the wind", came Adrien’s deadpan interruption from across the table, where he sat with Alya, who was sitting there with a quiet confident smile.

“You're still wearing my hoodie…”, Chloé observed.

“We share all kinds of things all the time!” 

“I catch you wearing my panties and I will kill you", Chloé promised, jabbing her fork at him.

Alya snickered at the mental image. 

Relative silence at the table for a moment.

“Okay. Here’s what I propose", Chloé nodded. “Marinette, if you think sunshine boy over there is so cute, you get precisely one free snuggle and smooch—”

“What?!”, Marinette, Adrien, and Alya all yelped simultaneously.

“Let me finish", Chloé raised a hand to forestall any further interruption. “As I was saying, you get one free smooch, on the condition that I get to kiss Alya at the same time.”

“I can hear you smiling from here, Adrien", Alya cautioned, looking down in mild disapproval. “Behave, or we'll be conducting this little experiment with you and I sitting back to back.”

Marinette tapped the tips of her index fingers together, fidgeting, looking at the table. “So, umm…is that a ‘yes'?”

Alya sipped her drink, considering. “Provisionally, yes. And I reserve the right to change my mind at any time.

Chloé nodded. “I think if any of us have second thoughts, the deal is off. Agreed?”

Agreement around the table.

*-*-*

Habitat Observation Sub-Station

Cool dim surroundings, containing banks of displays and coded visual enunciators with flickering lights above intricate controls, memory banks recording multiple streams of data on crystalline matrices, centered around a primary translucent three-dimensional projection map in exquisite detail that exhibited a flowing, rippling mass composed of hundreds of thousands, if not millions of discrete miniscule points of light.

The access portal cycled, open, then closed, admitting a presence.

“Acknowledgment, Superior.”

“Acknowledgment, subordinate. Scheduled duty roster rotation. Iteration status update, including notable deviations.”

Switches activated, controls adjusted, displays flickering into activity, data scrolling past in ordered ranks. “Iteration stable, positive two and thirteen with four seventeenths above nominal projected status. Mnemonic harvesting, integration, and implantation overlay showing null-null-null one and one-nineteenth sub-optimal. Quite within present iteration parameters.”

“Resource allocation and utilisation?”, the Superior asked, rotating and manipulating the central projection map, zooming in on a residential region.

“Null-null five and two below predicted expenditure.”

The Superior assessed the information, collating, theorizing. “Transpose and compare to next most previous iteration.”

“Present iteration stable, potential positive expansion of factor seven.”

“Recommend immediate population-wide dispersal of prophylactic contraception via nutritional materials to prevent incipient overpopulation, until further notification pending reassessment of iteration stability.”

“Acknowledged and implemented, Superior.”

“Present population recovery and recycling relative to replicate generation series?”

“Superlative!”, the subordinate relayed with a note of professional pride. “Ninety-six and eight with five sixty-thirds recovery of previous iteration replicate generation! Though some of the recently decanted generation six and three’s implemented to complete iteration population are exhibiting mnemonic implantation crossover and instability.”

“Enough to destabilise the present iteration?”, the Superior inquired.

“Negative", the subordinate confirmed. “Such a probability is a five-null one with eleven twenty-firsts projection. Iteration is stable.”

“Present iteration report accepted. Report for nourishment, recreation, and dormancy period.”

“Acknowledged, Superior. Gratitude.” 

A pause. 

“Prior to departure, initiate adversary protocol in the usual indoctrination crèche on the next diurnal period. Set arrogance at nominal positive one, delete-insert, three and seven, hostility to nominal positive five with, oh, thirteen thirty-fifths. Deploy with previous objective parameters. Decant a fresh generation six and three replicate for the exercise.”

“Acknowledged, initiate adversary protocol as instructed, Superior.”

The subordinate internalized the hostility and aggression, activating the necessary controls and sub-systems. So much for nourishment and recreation…

*-*-*

Chloé stood with her arm around Marinette’s waist, chatting with her brother and his Martiniquan girlfriend about plans for them to get together to do homework and watch television when Sabrina approached them, angling her way down the school steps, arms laden with books.

“So I hear rumours that you’re planning to be a delivery girl?”, Sabrina sneered at Chloé. 

Chloé felt Marinette's grip tighten just ever so slightly in warning, a slight shake of her head not to rise to the bait, and Chloé counted to five before answering.

“Bicycle courier, actually", Chloé replied. “What’s it to you?”

The stylish redhead held out her armload of books. “Deliver my homework to the hotel.” She took a half-step back, pouting slightly behind her glasses at Chloé's glare. “Please?”

The pretty blonde eyed the number of books. “I ought to charge by the kilo.”

“Whatever’s fair", Sabrina nodded agreement, almost eagerly, handing over the stack of schoolwork.

The foursome, two pair of couples, watched as the hotel heiress practically skipped to the limousine that waited for her at the curb.

Alya shrugged out of her school backpack, retrieving her phone and wallet. “Here. You can return it tomorrow.”

Chloé nodded, appreciative for the loan, loading the books into the borrowed pack. 

“Looks like this is where we part ways", Marinette smiled coyly. “When did we want to try the, umm…experiment?”

“We have a practice gig on Friday, so why not then? Make it a sleep-over for us girls”, Alya offered. 

Chloé confessed with a shy smile. “I’m gonna say I can’t remember the last time I was invited to a sleep-over.” She unlocked her bike, swinging her leg over it, buckling on her helmet, then holding out her hand. “My hoodie. Gimme.”

Her brother handed over the borrowed jacket with a sheepish smile, before wrapping an arm around Alya. “I was just thinking, maybe we could do the sleep-over at our place? I bet Dad would be happier if we didn’t leave the house empty.”

Marinette stared at Adrien, arms crossed. “One boy. In a house filled with girls. Tell me how that couldn’t go wrong.”

“One, your dad’s a cop too, Marinette”, Adrien pointed out, ticking off the arguments on his fingers. “Two, Chloé. Three, Rose and Juleka are a couple, and I don’t poach—”

“Four, your own totally hot girlfriend will be in the house…”, Alya chuckled, tousling Adrien’s hair.

“Which leads to five, Dad would lose his mind if he thought I was messing around in the house, thank you, I choose life", Adrien continued, “Which leads us to six, I’m quite willing to stay out of your way and play video games on the laptop in our room.”

Chloé slipped the straps of Alya’s pack over her shoulders, leaning over to kiss Marinette, who cheerfully wrapped her arms around her girlfriend's neck, returning the affection. “Call me when you get home.” A quick wave in farewell, then Chloé pedaled away, bumping off the sidewalk into traffic for the short ride to the hotel.

A few minutes later, Chloé had convinced the doorman of the Grand Paris Hotel that she should be able to leave her bike inside the lobby while she delivered Sabrina's homework to the front desk, only to be informed that she was expected to complete the delivery in person to Mademoiselle Raincomprix.

The ride up in the private elevator to the Raincomprix family private suite brought a wave of wistful nostalgia and petty irritation. She was supposed to be rich, the daughter of the Mayor of Paris! The floor chime sounded, and the doors slid aside, opening of the familiar hallway.

It was surreal, experiencing walking through the suite, knowing every corner, every door to every room, having been Sabrina's guest numerous times, but also the echo that the same confines had once been her home in a separate existence. Jean Whats-his-name, the butler, was a constant, always at the beck-and-call of the family. She hoped Sabrina treated him better than she had.

“You are expected, Mademoiselle”, Jean announced politely with a slight bow, right hand extended to indicate her path. “The young mistress is awaiting you.”

Chloé nodded, shrugging the borrowed backpack off. “Thank you, Jean.”

Opening the door into the spacious bedroom she’d charged into as Hellcat scant weeks ago, Chloé felt the same brief pang of homesickness and sadness. ‘At least Sabrina's mother wants her around' the memory insinuated. 

“Chloé, is that you?”, Sabrina called from the en suite bathroom.

“No, it’s Le Chien Kim", the blonde replied.

“Ha Ha", the ginger sneered. “Stay there. I have a surprise for you!”

Chloé paced, peering out the window, parts of her remembering the view.

“Tah-dah!”, Sabrina announced proudly from behind Chloé. “What do you think?”

Sabrina. In a perfect replica of Hellcat's costume.

Hiding a smile behind her hand, Chloé giggled. Sabrina looked, well, not ridiculous, but definitely enthusiastically unusual. Cosplay gone comically wrong. Her ginger hair clashed horribly with Hellcat’s gold detailing. “Oh my god, you’ve gone total Fangirl.” 

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t idolize the person who saved me from a deranged lunatic?”, Sabrina demanded, fists on her hips, defiant.

Chloé dropped the backpack on the wide queen bed, then walked a slow circle around Sabrina, eyeing every detail. Remarkable skill and craftsmanship, the zipper cunningly concealed. Even a replica Cat Staff baton clipped to the back of her belt. Custom made contact lenses turned Sabrina's aqua eyes to Hellcat's slitted gold.

“Your papa spoils you", Chloé observed. “Indulges you horribly.”

“Why shouldn’t he?”, the ersatz Hellcat sniffed indignantly, arms crossed.

Chloé held up both hands, refusing to be drawn into argument.

“So? What do you think?”, Sabrina wheedled.

“Worth every euro, I guess. Umm, did you…uh…pad your…?”, Chloé waved her hands over her own bosom.

Sabrina rolled her eyes. “Uh, yeah! If I’m going to look like my hero, I’m going to get it right! Besides…I’m, uh…not as…umm, big as she is…there.”

“You’re serious! You really do admire her!”, Chloé smiled. “How wonderfully ridiculous!”

“Hellcat is an inspiration!”, Sabrina bristled, defending her idol.

“What would you do if you ever met Hellcat again?”

“Honestly?”, Sabrina grinned, fists clenched in happiness, close to her chest, excited that she could talk about Hellcat and not be judged. “Probably thank her for saving me. After I fainted.”

Chloé grinned. “Have you used a three-way mirror?”

“Why?”

“Bear in mind I’m now officially so, so gay”, Chloé grinned, “but I'll admit your fangirl suit is doing amazing things to your ass.”

Sabrina actually squealed in delight, clapping her hands, bouncing on the toes of her gold-laced cat-foot boots.

“Look, much as I’m having fun", Chloé smirked, “I’d like to complete the drop-off and get going. Adrien’s turn to cook, and he owes me after the hoodie incident this morning.”

Sabrina nodded, smiling, skipping to the side table beside the door to fetch her purse, pulling out her wallet and handing her friend two one hundred Euro notes. “For services rendered. And…I’d like to start a contract with you, if I can. To deliver things.”

“I’m still your friend, Sabrina", Chloé blushed. “Don’t make it weird.”

Sabrina shrugged. “I…mom…she sat down with me the other day. We talked. I’ve… I’ve been a bi—umm, bad friend. I’m sorry.”

Chloé's sudden embrace surprised both of them. “I’m sorry I left you", Chloé whispered. “You deserved better.”

“Wh-at?”, Sabrina blinked at her friend.

Chloé stepped back, wiping away a tear. “Your mom probably told you I’m all messed up and not sleeping, right?”

Sabrina nodded.

“Well, part of that is…I’m…I don’t always remember things properly, so bear with me, please?”

Another nod from the red-head. “Okay.” Sabrina held out the money. “Here.”

“Its too much.”

“Take it", Sabrina insisted. The handed Chloé five hundred more Euros. 

Chloé raised a sceptical eyebrow.

“I’m investing in you. Get the gear you need, a proper pack, maybe a cute outfit with a logo. And business cards. And receipt books. You’re going to need them”, Sabrina advised.

Chloé nodded. “Merci. Really. I mean it.”

“Say hi to Adrien for me?”

A gentle scoff from Chloé. “If Alya thinks you’re making a move on her cinnamon bun, she’ll whack you with her guitar.”

“Yeah, well…”, Sabrina smiled, conflicted. “I’ll take the chance. Felix is a jerk. And Kim is…ugh.”

Chloé grinned. “Juleka’s brother is single...”, she suggested.

“Oooooo!”, Sabrina thrilled, index finger close to her pursed lips. “He's a hunk! And an artist. With unlimited access to pastries…hmm…”

She had her plotting face on. Chloé knew this was not going to go well.

“Good night, Sabrina…”, the pretty blonde sighed, emptying the backpack and letting herself out.


	11. The Devil You Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter?
> 
> Yep, new chapter.
> 
> Oh, and some of them secrets...

The highpoint of the day had been Plagg purring like a broken blender from his place in the cup holder mounted on the centerpost of her bike's handlebars that he rode in as Chloé shot through the streets of Paris on her way to school, the wind of their passage causing his whiskers to flutter. People she passed assumed the rattling metallic buzz was the sound of her bike's derailleur.

The rest of the morning was just short of disaster.

A new student, Lila Rossi by name, the dusky auburn-haired daughter of an Italian diplomatic attaché, had been shoe-horned into the classroom, seating assignments shuffled again to accommodate her, resulting in Lila sitting behind Felix's blonde smugness, where he spent the remainder of the morning trying to subtly sneak a peek at the conventionally pretty girl with the beaded forelocks.

Chloé couldn’t put her finger on why, much less explain the subtle unease she felt when she looked at the new student. Was it possible to be too self-confident, too well-adjusted to be thrown unprepared into an unfamiliar social setting? Especially one as complicated and dynamic as a classroom.

Marinette’s casual hand on her knee made Chloé realize she’d been unconsciously bouncing her leg rapidly. “You’re stimming”, her girlfriend murmured. “Breathe. Calm down.”

“Sorry", Chloé blushed, trying to concentrate on her assignment.

By lunchtime, Chloé had decided she didn’t like Lila. Was it because she’d subtly encouraged Felix to cut in front of Sabrina in the cafeteria line? The way she simpered over the teen model's subtly sly insults of his sister, Rose? She was pretty sure she’d seen Lila actually cause already calamity-prone Marinette to trip and unintentionally upend her lunch-tray over Juleka. 

A definite clincher was the name dropping. And humble-bragging.

“Of course I’ve heard of La Coccinelle and Hellcat!”, Lila intimated to Alya during a class break later in the day. “They even saved me twice! Hellcat told me I was incredibly brave in helping her during the multi-akuma attack, and gave me a special texting code for her to come and save me during the next akuma event!”

“Oh, that’s interesting", Marinette chirped, visibly irritated, her back stiff and ramrod straight, right eye twitching just ever so slightly. “I guess I was mistaken when I heard you tell the entire class you just arrived in Paris three days ago.”

Alya blinked, then snickered, the coin dropping. “Ooo, feel the burn!”, she grinned.

“And Marinette the Martyr appears, right on cue!”, Felix sneered, defending Lila as he stepped in just behind and to her left. “Don’t waste your time with the rabble. They already infected my Dear Sister with their gay. I swear she’s vomiting rainbows now just like all their other vulgar ilk.”

Marinette crossed her arms, glaring at the stylish and groomed-to-within-an-inch-of-his-life teen heart-throb, as Juleka inhaled sharply at the slur.

“Ohhh shit….”, someone murmured in the gathering knot of students.

Rose reached up, putting a calming hand on Juleka's black taffeta and lace clad shoulder, a brittle smile on her pale pink lips. "Felix, brother dear, when you figure out how to please a woman you can talk about my preference in romantic partners. And I assure you, it doesn't involve how many zeros you have at the end of your bank account or how much super-hold gel you put in your hair. Besides, I'd rather vomit rainbows than the tripe you call thoughts that come out your mouth."

Murmurs of agreement in the hallway from the small crowd.

“Go Rosie!”, hulking Ivan smiled tightly, daring the teen male model to insult his beloved's bandmate again with his glare.

Felix's eyes narrowed, lips firming in a flat grimace. “C’mon, Lila. We should leave before we get contaminated.” 

Chloé realized her hands had been balled into tight fists, the hallway too bright and filled with detail as Felix and Lila stalked away with wounded pride.

Marinette glanced at her, did a double-take. “You okay? Your eyes are huge.” 

“Yeah, fine”, Chloé nodded, voice low, watching the class snobs depart. “Peachy.”

The built-up tension in the cluster of students dribbled away like muddy water as they slipped away to various classes.

Juleka released the firm grip she’d held her rolled parasol with, looking at her petite girlfriend, suddenly noticing how pale and shaky Rose was. “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden…”

“Give it a minute”, the diminutive blonde said. “Then please escort me to the bathroom.”

“Huh?”

Rose convulsed, just a bit, fighting down the urge to vomit.

“Make a hole, people!!”, Juleka bellowed, waving people aside with her rolled parasol. “Now!!”

Students scattered as the goth fashionista hurried past them on a mission, leading her petite girlfriend to the facilities.

Adrien sauntered up to the remnants of the clique. “What did I miss?”

A long sigh from Alya. “I love you, sunshine bun, but there are just days with you…”, she intoned, rubbing at the mole on her forehead. “C'mon, class is starting.”

*-*-*

Last class of a long and trying day. In homeroom.

Rose had been sufficiently ill enough to warrant a trip to the exceedingly unpleasant environs of the lysee nurse, Madam Mendeleyev, which resulted in the diminutive girl looking grey and pasty instead of just pale. Which in her present pink and white ensemble made her appear as if she was not long for the world.

Lila made the snippy comment that the bite mark Juleka was draining Rose's life from must be lower down.

Juleka spent some time in Madame Raincomprix’s office after that. Lila still had the handprint on her face half an hour later.

Ten minutes were left in class when the akuma alert triggered. Juleka still hadn’t returned to class.

Chloé's forehead banged into the desk in front of her. “Now?! Really?!”, she demanded, thoroughly annoyed, hands splayed open above either side of her blond head, mechanical pencil flipping out of her fingers to land somewhere on the floor.

Marinette merely looked at the ceiling in aggrieved long-suffering silence, sharing her girlfriend's irritation. Both of them sneaking out of class at the same time would look suspicious as hell.

Lila felt herself awkwardly yanked back by a handful of her long dark auburn hair, banging painfully against the desk behind her. 

“If my girlfriend got akumatized because of you, bitch…” Rose's voice was low and tight in Lila’s ear, the threat very apparent. 

Lila’s eyes darted to Felix, who had turned in his seat at Lila's yelp, her expression begging him to intervene, her hands flailing ineffectively. He sat there, calculating the odds, not liking the fierce, unfamiliar protectiveness in his sister's gaze, challenging him, daring him to say anything. 

“Rose, you’re making a scene…”, Felix hissed, embarrassed. “And creating an international incident! Lila’s mother is the Italian Embassy's diplomatic attaché!”

“Our father is a financier", Rose said sweetly in Lila's ear. “Did brother dear bother to tell you that? Did he tell you that Father could ruin Italy's economy with a single phone call, hmm?” Rose’s blue-eyed glare fixed Felix in place. “I’m done being your door-mat, Felix.”

Tension in the room like a electric field, an explosive gas mixture waiting for a spark.

“Bug!”, Alya yelled, pointing at the aubergine flutter near the open transom above the classroom door. 

“Excelsior!”, her quiet, bookish brother Max yelped, flipping a bizarre assembly of spare parts open into what looked like a freakish, electrified badminton racquet, throwing it to Adrien who exploded out of his seat, leaping to swat the insectoid menace out of the air with an audible ‘snap-pop' of electrocuted arthropod. 

The toxic apprehension in the room was swept away by the pandemonium of joy and relief at the demise of the akuma, Madame DuPain-Cheng trying vainly to call the room to order, giving up, and watching as the jubilant students literally carried their new heroes out the door into the wide hallway in defiance of the lockdown.

Concealed in the throng, Marinette and Chloé slipped away, unobserved.

Or so they thought...

*-*-*

The akuma victim, previously a rotund bank manager, called themselves ‘Bâtonnier', bragging that they controlled the pulse of the city with a wave of their wand.

Hellcat grinned, whipping out her Cat Staff to cane length. “Let’s dance, maestro.”

The ensuing melee was a brutal beat down, Hellcat flipping and spinning, darting, countering, feinting, striking, throwing low leg-sweeping kicks that had Bâtonnier leaping or rolling away on the defensive, evading desperately, swinging wildly with their own short staff to keep the predatorily-grinning Hellcat at bay.

The fight ended when Bâtonnier backed into La Coccinelle’s yo-yo tripline, toppling backward with a curse, Hellcat pouncing, smashing the banker's akuma-contaminated pocket-watch with the Cat Staff, freeing the fluttering menace to be scooped up and de-evilised by La Coccinelle.

“Lucky Charm!”

The whirling rush of energy, La Coccinelle and Hellcat bumping fists in victory.

“You’re getting a lot more controlled, kitty", La Coccinelle complimented her partner with a pleased smile. “You didn’t even need your Cataclysm today.”

“For that fat cat? Give me-ow more credit than that”, Hellcat grinned.

The red and black heroine rolled her eyes. “You and your puns…”

“You love me anyway", Hellcat purred, slipping her arms around La Coccinelle’s slender waist. “Call me tonight?”

La Coccinelle nodded, blushing. Her earrings beeped plaintively. “Gotta run, puss.” 

Hellcat watched as La Coccinelle swung away on her yo-yo line, admiring her trim form.

“I’d tap that for a euro", the banker grinned lasciviously beside Hellcat.

Her snapping backhand fist to the face knocked the sexist pig backward onto the pavement, out cold, before leaping to the rooftops via a Cat Staff assisted leap, trotting along the ridgelines, annoyed. Just because she and La Coccinelle happened to wear skin-tight costumes during their various adventures, that did not give permission to random perverts to grope or ogle them.

The retracted Cat Staff baton beeped in comm mode, Hellcat pausing on a rooftop to answer, thumbing the display open. “That was fast, bugaboo—”

“Pardon me?”, the gruff male voice on the transceiver replied. “I assure you, I am not your ‘bugaboo'.”

Hellcat froze, a shiver of fear making the hair on the back of her neck rise up. “Who the hell are you?”

An amused, indulgent chuckle. “Call me Askalaphos.”

“Who?”

“Smart girl like you, you figure it out", Askalaphos taunted.

“If this is one of Papillion’s flunkies—”

A mocking, irritated scoff cut Hellcat off. “Me? In the employ of that unimaginative windbag? Hardly.”

“What do you want?” Suspicious, cautious.

“Papillion is a symptom, a tool", the mysterious voice confided. “His actions are dictated by the true masters of Paris, who see the population as playthings, mice in their labyrinth. You yourself have almost seen hints of what I’m talking about, haven’t you?”

Hellcat’s fingertips touched her cheek, just below the outer corner of her left eye. “Maybe…”

“You have hidden allies, Hellcat. Use them. Free us.”

The connection terminated abruptly. 

She needed to talk to Marinette. Now.

*-*-*

The school was closed for the evening, doors locked, when Chloé arrived to retrieve her bicycle, annoyed she wouldn't be able to retrieve her backpack or cycling helmet from her locker. Annoyance became rage when she discovered both of her bike's tires had been slashed.

"Goddamn litter spreading, ass licking, bob-tailed, crusty drought ridden flowers. Fuzz on a cracker and I'm gonna..." Chloé vented at volume, breathing hard, fists clenched, stamping a foot, incensed beyond the breaking point, lower lip trembling.

“That was impressive”, Rose deadpanned once Chloé ran out of invective, sitting on the school steps, chin in her hands, elbows on her knees, looking less pale than she had earlier. “It was Lila, in case you're wondering. She’s got a little knife blade hidden inside a lipstick tube she keeps in her purse. Felix laughed while she did it, before he jumped in the car with mother dearest, leaving me behind. Again.”

Chloé’s right fist balled so tight her knuckles popped.

Rose calmly pulled her cell-phone out of her small purse, activating it, tapping a contact. “ ’Brina? Rose. Chloé’s bike was vandalized. Yes, we know who.” A pause. “Yes, you know who too. Yes, her. I know, right? Okay. Really? Damn, that’s going hardcore. If you think so. Alright. Bon nuit, sweetie.”

Anger dissipating in curiosity, Chloé raised an eyebrow inquiringly at Rose.

“Oh, right, you don’t know", Rose nodded. “We grew up together, Sabrina, Felix, and I. Her daddy is rich and important, and my Father is a major financier, so…yeah, I’ve known ‘Brina since forever. Her crush on my brother was embarrassing until I started going out with Jules. Now she’s sniffing around Luka like she’s in heat, finding excuses to hang out at the bakery.”

Chloé groaned, raising a hand in guilt. “My fault. Didn’t want her chasing Adrien and pissing off Alya.”

Laughter like tiny silver bells. “Are you kidding? Jules is laughing herself blue watching her brother trying not to pass out because his crush is paying attention to him!”

“Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait!”, Chloé said, frowning, waving both hands to clear the confusion. “Your girlfriend’s brother has a crush on my best friend, and I didn’t know about it?!”

“How often did you talk to Juleka? Before this year, I mean”, Rose asked calmly.

Chloé put a hand on the back of her neck, looking away, embarrassed. “Uh, never, really. She always kinda…creeped me out, if I’m being honest.”

“And now?” Open challenge in Rose's silver-blue eyes. 

“She’s…kinda hot.”

“Step back, alley cat", Rose grinned impishly. “Spooky is mine! I will tell her you think she's hot though. Her ego could use the boost.”

Chloé wondered if embarrassment was terminal.

“C'mon", Rose giggled at Chloé, rising from her place on the steps.

“Wha-?”

“We’re getting you a new bike", the blonde pixie announced, skipping past Chloé towards the Grand Paris Hotel limousine pulling up to the curb.

“Buh—“, was Chloé’s witty counterpoint as she trailed her diminutive friend.

*-*-*

Chloé deposited her new bike in the hallway, dropped her purse behind it, and lugged the four shopping bags in her hands into the living room, scuffing her feet in exhaustion, where Adrien raised a dubiously curious eyebrow at her from beneath his shaggy blonde hair, muting the television with a flick of his thumb on the remote. 

“Uhhh…what the helium, sis?”

“Helium?! Really?!”, Chloé growled as she dropped the bags on the threadbare rug. 

“Making light of the situation with some elemental humor ”, Adrien quipped with a smile.

Chloé flopped onto her end of the sagging couch beside her twin. “I’m too tired to kill you. Mayhem is self-serve tonight.”

Her brother rolled up out of the couch. “Stay put. I’ll get you some supper.”

Standing under the stuttering spray in the shower after eating, hot water streaming over her scalp, through her fine blonde hair and down her body, Chloé reviewed the events of the day, and no matter how she looked at it, it was, as some crudely put it, a shit show.

‘Just like every other time Papillion rears his head', memories not her own whispered at her. 

Dried off, hair dried and brushed, wearing one of daddy’s old tee-shirts as a make-do nightie, Chloé tugged the recently hung heavy curtains around her lower bunk closed, blocking out all of the light and most of the ambient noise of the house.

*Something weird happened tonight. Too tired now, talk tomorrow*, she texted Marinette. 

-ping-

*K

-ping-

*Love you, kitty.


	12. Mystery Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Sympathy for the Devil', copyright Mick Jagger/Kieth Richards.

Chloé glanced at her brother as Adrien checked his messages.

The school cafeteria of Françoise Dupont Collège clattered and thrummed with chattering conversations between students. A definite sense of division was in the air, splitting along the line between the wealthy and the working class, the charge being led by the new power couple in the school, Felix Agreste and Lila Rossi.

Much to the irritation of the two insufferable elitists, almost nobody cared what they thought. Even their most likely ally, Sabrina Raincomprix, daughter of the Mayor of Paris, studiously ignored them.

As a result, Felix and Lila sat alone at a table under the windows, glaring spitefully at the clique that included Chloé and her brother, their romantic partners, and most annoyingly, Felix’s sister, Rose, and Chloé's best friend, Sabrina.

“So, what’s the word?”, Chloé inquired, nudging Adrien under the table with her toe. ”Do we have permission for the sleepover or not?”

Adrien nodded, turning off his cell-phone. “The word is ‘Go for the moon'. He's said I’m in charge, the usual ‘man of the house’ while he’s gone stuff. You know.”

Rolling her pale blue eyes dramatically, Chloé leaned back in her chair, arms folded, ‘tch'-ing. “Typical.”

“I’m marking it in the win column that Dad agreed to the sleepover happening at all”, Adrien shrugged. “Getting to the canal boat after school for the practice gig, then back home is going to be a challenge.”

“On it", Sabrina smirked, holding up her smartphone triumphantly. “One Grand Paris Hotel shuttle van, coming up!”

*-*-*

Friday’s classes couldn’t have ended any sooner for Chloé's liking. If anyone had asked her why she was in a good mood, she might not have been able to explain it, but it felt like for the first time in her life she was actually looking forward to something with anticipation instead of vague unease or dread.

Chloé opened her locker, intending to store her schoolbooks for the weekend, and discovered a familiar-looking small black-lacquered hexagonal box resting on the top shelf, with palm-sized envelope leaning against it. Cautious, curious, she opened the envelope and read the simple white card with its type-written message:

‘This is the Fox Miraculous. Choose the ally you give it to with great care, because you must trust them with your life.’

Chloé glanced around in the locker room, knowing none of her classmates would have been able to conceal the box in her locker. The culprit…or ally must have been someone who looked like they belonged in the school, and was intimately familiar with the building.

‘You received the Bee Miraculous by mistake!', a memory not her own hissed. ‘You wasted your opportunity and lost Pollen!”

Pocketing the jewelry box, the pale blonde slammed her locker closed, silencing the voice. Marinette glanced at her, brows knit in concern.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah", Chloé lied, sighing. “Just nervous about tonight, Dee Cee. Nerves…”

The doubt in Mari's blue eyes was echoed in her voice. “Uh-huh…”

“It’s been too quiet and we have plans”, Chloé grumbled. “I’ll bet you a sou Butterfly Boy causes prob—”

Marinette's index finger pressed against Chloé's pink lips, silencing her.

“Do. Not. Jinx. It!”, her girlfriend commanded, then softened, moving her finger and kissing Chloé. “C'mon, the shuttle should be outside. Our chariot awaits.”

Chloé nodded, shouldering her pack, linking her fingers into Marinette's, smiling. “You’re right. Let’s go.” 

Steps away from the shuttle bus, Chloé glanced up at the rustling clatter of hundreds of pairs of wings overhead, her face paling slightly as the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Marinette's fingers tightened on her hand.

“That can’t be good", Marinette muttered, watching as the massive flock of pigeons flew towards the Louvre.

Chloé was gripping the hexagonal box in her hoodie pocket so tightly her fingers hurt. Pulling free from her girlfriend’s grip, Chloé shoved the small lacquered box into Adrien's hands. “You get everyone somewhere safe!”, she growled as cellphones started chiming warnings from the akuma attack app. “Take them home, get them off the street!”

“Chloé? What's going—“ Confusion on Adrien’s face.

“You’ll know what to do!”, Chloé nodded, decision made. “You keep them safe!”

Marinette had slipped away, probably back to the school. Chloé had to join her, soon. Paris needed them.

*-*-*

Monsieur Pigeon. Again.

Threatening to destroy the treasures stored within the world famous museum unless he received a ransom of ten million euros. And the Miraculous' held by Hellcat and La Coccinelle. 

Harassed by a swarming flock of winged pests, Hellcat's feline scream of frustration and rage sounded like heavy canvas tearing, her Cat Staff spinning and whipping in a destructive kata, pigeons practically exploding in puffs of feathers as the heroine attempted, in vain, to protect priceless artworks from being defaced by pecking beaks, scratching claws, and corrosive birdlime.

La Coccinelle leapt and dodged, swinging from place to place inside the heritage building, trying to force the akumatized villain into making a mistake she could take advantage of to end the fight that had already dragged on for more than an hour.

Two struggling and rapidly tiring heroes against a seemingly innumerable horde defending a mocking, irritating foe.

“Are my feathered friends making you a bit coo-coo?", Monsieur Pigeon taunted with a grin from his perch atop the Monument to the Heart of Duke Anne de Montmerency.

“Pluck you!”, Hellcat screamed defiance, wiping a smear of stinking white birdlime off her mask with the back of her left gauntlet.

La Coccinelle danced in the ducking, spinning, flick-kicking method of using her yo-yo as a weapon, adapted from Asian rope-dart techniques, winding the yo-yo line around her arms, legs, and over her neck, only to cast it with unexpected force in an unpredictable arc or straight, whip-snap attack. A near miss that would have knocked the bird-obsessed villain unconscious had instead shattered a particularly ugly granite block pretending to be valuable modern art.

Crouched beside each other in readiness, panting for breath, yo-yo and staff spinning, La Coccinelle and Hellcat weighed their options. Failure, defeat, was a definite possibility this time.

The lighting, for the entire building, for the displays, started to flicker and pulse in time with discordant flute music and descending drum beats, an almost sensual inhalation of breath preceding an ecstatic cry before a throaty young male tenor voice sang above thrumming guitar line over the Louvre's public address system.

“Please allow me to introduce myself,  
I’m a man of wealth, and taste.  
I’ve been around for long long years,  
Stole a million men’s souls, and faith", the voice, almost familiar, crooned seductively.

Stunned by the sudden interruption, Monsieur Pigeon looked around frantically, searching for the source of the voice.

“I was ‘round when Jesus Christ  
Had his moment of doubt, and pain.  
Made damn! sure Pilate  
Washed his hands and sealed his fate!”

The ornate double doors as the end of the chamber snapped open, and an outlandish figure slid into the room on the polished marble floor in an amazing display of grace and elegance of movement.

“Pleased to meet you!  
Won’t you guess my name?  
Oh, but puzzling you  
Is the nature of my game!”

Pigeons scattered before the intrusion, fluttering in confused disarray, escaping through broken windows and open doors.

The new arrival was attired in a tuxedo of flame orange, gleaming black dance shoes below fitted trousers cut to allow a dancer’s range of motion, the lower legs a black that matched the shoes fading into a dark smoky ombre at the knee. Black kid gloves shared a similar effect with the suit jacket below wide, flared and padded shoulders that lent the garment a touch of vintage elegance a century out of style. The split swallow-tails of the suit jacket sported bright white tips that matched the spotless white dress shirt beneath the stylish waistcoat. Vulpine viridian amber eyes behind a white-rimmed orange, pointed-cheek domino mask adorned with an impish black diamond over the nose, and tufted ears in a ruffed auburn-tinted blonde mane caught in a long ponytail by a silver ring. What appeared to be a walking stick of orange padauk wood was revealed to be a long flute that whistled and moaned discordantly when swung or spun.

Monsieur Pigeon stood atop his roost, slack-jawed in astonishment as the new arrival moon-walked backwards, still singing.

“I stuck around Saint Petersburg,  
When I saw it was time for a change.  
I killed the tsar and his ministers,  
Anastasia screamed. In vain.”

The walking stick flute snapped up, pointing in direct threat at the feathered felon.

“I rode a tank,  
Wore a General’s rank,  
When the blitzkrieg raged  
And the bodies stank!”

A showman’s self-introductory bow, arms wide, the intruder continued his mesmerising song;

“Pleased to meet you,  
Won’t you guess my name?  
But what’s puzzling you  
Is the nature of my game.”

Three showy spins across the floor, crossing in front of Hellcat and La Coccinelle, drawing Monsieur Pigeon’s attention away from them.

“I watched with glee  
While your kings and queens  
Fought for ten decades  
For the God they’d made!”

Finger guns miming a shot to the head.

“I shouted out  
‘Who killed the Kennedys?’  
When after all,  
It was you and me!”

The walking stick flute snapped up, extending to rest on the floor and the top of the column Monsieur Pigeon stood atop, the newcomer walking with deliberate grace up the narrow beam, stalking, pleading…

“Let me please introduce myself,  
I’m a man of wealth and taste.  
I laid traps for troubadours  
Who got killed before they reached Bombay!”

Halfway up the slope. Monsieur Pigeon was frozen. Did he dare run? Whose side was this intruder on?

“Pleased to meet you,  
Won’t you guess my name?  
Ah, but puzzling you,  
Is the nature of my game.”

The flame-colored tuxedo-clad individual had reached the top of the monument, crowding close to the akumatized villain, voice gone soft in a seductive whisper. Hellcat and La Coccinelle held their breath, unsure what to do.

“Just as every cop's a criminal…", the vulpine young man gently crooned as a bead of sweat slid down Pigeon’s cheek.  
“And all the sinners, saints.  
As heads is tails call me Lucifer,  
‘Cause I’m in need of some restraint.”

A sable clad gloved hand slid along Monsieur Pigeon’s jaw, and he swallowed in visible confusion.

“So if you meet me have some courtesy,  
Have some sympathy, and taste.  
Use all of your politeness,  
Or I’ll lay your soul to waste!”

A wicked, leering, sharp-fanged grin suddenly replaced the earnest good humor on the young man’s masked face, and a black-gloved hand clutched a tight fistful of Monsieur Pigeon’s costume coat, jerking savagely, toppling the villain to plummet the white marble floor with jarring impact.

“Pleased to meet you!”, the russet vigilante crowed as he slid down the shaft of his extended flute to floor level.  
“Hope you guessed my name!  
But what’s puzzling you,  
Is the nature of my game…”

A flourishing, wrist-flipping, low bow to Hellcat and La Coccinelle, the walking stick flute retracting as it was scooped up. 

“What’s my name?  
Oh, what’s my name?  
Tell me baby,  
Ohh, what’s my name?”, the youth sang enticingly, teasingly, as he two-step sashayed out of the room, walking stick flute perched jauntily on his right shoulder, the echo following him, fading as he disappeared. 

“What the hell just happened?”, Hellcat wondered aloud, casually pinning a stunned, groaning Monsieur Pigeon to the floor with one cat-footed boot, plucking the akuma-contaminated bird call free almost as a second thought, crushing it into fragments in her clawed grip, releasing the aubergine-tinted butterfly.

La Coccinelle flicked out her yo-yo by reflex, capturing the akuma, purifying it. “I have no idea. Bye-bye, little butterfly.”

*-*-*

Chloé paused, hand on the knob of the faded blue door that led to slightly shabby flat she and Adrien shared with their father, her foot on the step, a pale blue-eyed gaze appraising her blue-nette girlfriend.

Marinette glanced up, seeing the serious expression on her blonde girlfriend’s face. “What?”

“We’re going to have come up with one hell of an excuse for being late to our own party." Chloé stared up at the evening sky. “And somehow both of us suddenly needing to use the bathroom probably won’t be believed.”

Marinette frowned, looking away. “No kidding. For all we know, everyone might think we ditched them to hide or make out. Not that I don’t mind making out. With you. I like making out with you! You’re gorgeous!”

“Dee-Cee?”

“Hah?”, Marinette looked up, sapphire blue eyes wide.

“Darling, you’re babbling again”, Chloé smiled gently. “C'mon. At the very worst, the gang bailed on us, and we’ll have the house mostly to ourselves.”

The door opened under Chloé's hand, revealing Alya standing in the doorway.

“Or, you two idiots can get in here before all the pizza is gone", the French-Martiniquan girl smirked.


	13. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter?
> 
> New chapter!
> 
> You lucky dogs!

The plan for Friday night had been to meet up at the Césaire family barge for a ‘Yesterday's Child’ practice and jam session, followed by a girls night sleep-over at the Bourgeois family flat. 

That plan had been radically altered by the unseen menace to the city, Papillion, releasing yet another akuma to terrorize the populace yet again. And yet again, Chloé and Marinette had become their heroic alter egos to answer the call.

Now, what should have been an evening of light-hearted celebration instead had a somber air of apprehension.

Chloé tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, and peeked into the living room, Marinette peering cautiously over her shoulder.

A handful of flat pizza boxes crowded the top of the water-ring and cigarette burn scarred coffee table, the sagging couch behind it crowded by red-haired and bespectacled Sabrina Raincomprix, petite Rose Agreste, Rose’s goth fashionista girlfriend Juleka Couffaine, and zaftig and corn-rowed Mylène Haprèle. 

Rose, Juleka, and Mylène were members of Alya Césaire’s rock band, ‘Yesterday's Child’, and Sabrina was Chloé’s oldest friend, who just happened to be the daughter of the Mayor of Paris. Complicating matters was the fact Alya was presently dating Chloé's twin brother, Adrien.

The foursome on the couch looked like members of a firing squad, so much so that Chloé reflexively checked the wall behind herself and Marinette for bullet pockmarks. Alya leaned against the living room doorway far too casually.

Chloé swallowed, her mouth suddenly very dry. This was not good.

Adrien wasn’t in the living room. 

At Chloé’s unspoken question, Alya flicked her amber eyes toward the cracked plaster ceiling, indicating her brother was upstairs.

“Oh, this is utterly ridiculous!”, Chloé huffed. “Mari, get yourself some pizza!” Dropping her backpack on the scuffed hardwood floor of the hallway, Chloé stalked past Alya, stomping up the stairs. She was going to have a few choice words with her sibling, and didn’t want an audience.

The vintage rail-and-panel bedroom door slammed in a thunderclap.

“You goddamned litterbrain!”, Chloé hissed in a livid whisper, cheeks flushed crimson, making a vain attempt at keeping their guests ignorant of impending explosive family drama. “You were supposed to keep them safe! What the hell were you thinking?!“

Adrien slouched in an arms-crossed sulk, occupying the second-hand wooden office chair in front of the scavenged desk they shared to do homework. “I did!”, was his own fierce whisper in reply.

“ ‘Safe’ doesn’t meant running around the city during an akuma attack!”, Chloé accused, pointing out the room's lone window.

“Look who's talking!”, Adrien hissed, green eyes slitted in annoyance. “Is this why your sleep schedule is so messed up?!” 

“That’s not the point!” Chloé leaned forward confrontationally, fists on her hips.

Adrien surged up out of the office chair with a loud creak. “Oh, so it’s just fine for you to be running around the city at all hours in a skin-tight leather cat suit, risking your life?!”

“You were supposed to stay here! Out of harms way!“, Chloé stabbed a finger at the floor, blue eyes blazing challenge at her brother.

“You were losing!”, Adrien huffed, palms up in explanation. “I had to do something!”

“We. Were. Not. Losing!”, Chloé hoarsely enunciated, refusing to give any ground.

Adrien’s palm slapped to his forehead in disbelief and annoyance at his sister's defiance. “Hellcat and La Coccinelle, you, never had a fight that lasted more than ten minutes! Pigeon was kicking your butts! You needed back-up! Why did you give me that magic charm if you didn’t?” 

Chloé blinked, taken aback. Adrien glared at her, silently demanding an answer. “I…”, she said in a normal tone.

“Yes?!”, Adrien hissed.

His sister looked away, out the window, ashamed. “I—I had to give it…to…” Chloé sighed in frustration, looking at the ceiling, stamping a foot. “I had to give it to someone I could trust with my life.”

Adrien blinked. And blinked again. Then grabbed his sister in a rib-creaking hug that caught Chloé off guard. “Of course you can trust me, idiot!”

The embrace lasted a moment, Chloé understanding how much her brother cared about her.

“You can’t ever tell daddy", Chloé nodded, sitting on her bunk bed. Adrien sat beside her, hands between his knees.

“Duh!”

“Got a name picked out?”

“You mean, I get to choose my own superhero name?”, Adrien grinned.

Chloé nodded.

“Slyboots”, Adrien announced without hesitation.

His sister sighed in resignation, shoulders slumping slightly. “Figures.” A glance at her brother. “Congratulations, sunshine boy, you now hold a Miraculous, and have a huge target on your back.”

Adrien smiled, bumping shoulders. “Merci. For trusting me.”

Chloé's blonde ponytail flicked as she shook her head. “Don’t thank me yet. As of right now, your life is in danger. You’re on call twenty-four-seven, your social life goes into the waste bin, and you're gonna have to come up with shitty excuses for ditching your friends all the time. Oh, and try to get along with your kwami. It’ll make things…easier.”

“They’re called Trixx”, Adrien grinned.

“Of course they are. Alya can’t know", Chloé explained. “Nobody can. Papillion, the creep who creates the akumas, he’s dangerous, Adrien. Really dangero—” Chloé cut herself off when she saw Adrien’s embarrassed grin, his hand on the back of his neck. “Oh, goddamnit! What?! Already?!”

Adrien chuckled nervously.

“Oh, this is utterly ridiculous…”

Chloé stood up, opened the bedroom door and marched downstairs.

Staring at the silent congregation in the living room. Marinette sat in Chloé's father's chair, doing her best to look insignificant or invisible, a slice of pizza in hand with one bite out of it. Alya perched on the arm of the old couch, looking insufferably smug. 

Sabrina was practically vibrating with barely contained joy.

“Ohmigod”, Chloé groaned, face-palming. “How many of you know?”

Five hands went up.

“Jesus wept."

Adrien found Chloé with her head in the gap of the open freezer compartment of the refrigerator. “What are you doing?”

“Watching penguins migrate”, came the muffled reply.

Adrien scoffed, arms crossed. “No, seriously, what are you doing?”

“I need to cool off", Chloé’s voice replied from inside the freezer. “It feels like my head is going to explode.”

A knock at the flat’s front door. 

“I’ll get it!”, Sabrina exclaimed, thundering down the hallway in a rush.

Chloé extracted her head from the freezer, closing the door with a soft thump. “This is a complete disaster. Between your girlfriend’s fangirl blog, and Sabrina being one of the biggest gossips in school, we'll probably be dead in a week.”

Gently tugging his sister by the wrist, Adrien led Chloé back to the living room. Sabrina was unwrapping a small container of Grand Paris Hotel bespoke strawberry ice cream, possibly the best in the city, a giddy smile on her lips. Surrendering to the inevitable, Chloé sat on the floor near Marinette, legs crossed, and scavenged a random slice of pizza. Vegetarian, apparently, she discovered when she took a bite.

Chewing for a moment, swallowing, Chloé looked down, trying not to be terrified or dreadfully annoyed, almost not succeeding. “How did you figure it out?”, she demanded quietly.

The last person Chloé expected leaned forward, a smirk on her pale pink lips.

“You and Mari stink at keeping secrets", diminutive Rose Agreste nodded.

Chloé blinked in surprise, slice of pizza forgotten halfway to her mouth. “Hah?”

“The way you two conveniently disappear every time an akuma shows up?” Rose shook her head, eyes closed. “Sloppy. And your cover stories? Please!”

Chloé scoffed. “Like you would know about sneaking out of the house…”

“I live with two, no, three amoral sociopaths", Rose sighed wistfully. “Sneaking, hiding, and staying invisible are how I’ve survived this long.” Juleka silently took Rose’s hand, lending quiet moral support, a faint scowl on her pale face.

Mylène leaned back in the couch cushions, supporting her head on her raised hand. “You should have seen the look on our fearless leader's face when she figured out who Foxy was. And how.”

Alya looked away, arms crossed, blushing guiltily.

“Oh, this is going to be epic!”, Adrien grinned.

*-*-*

Two hours previously

Adrien had herded the excited, chattering cluster of his classmates into the house, half-listening as Alya and Sabrina eagerly compared notes and observations on Hellcat and La Coccinelle, who had been akumatized, and what powers they might exhibit, clattering into the living room, Alya snatching up the remote for the television, thumbing the set to life, flicking through the channels, searching for news coverage.

A chorus of groans as the villain was revealed to be Monsieur Pigeon. Again.

Somehow the news channel managed to get patched into the security camera network of the Louvre, and Adrien and his guests watched as what should have been a simple quick and dirty takedown become a brutal endurance contest. 

While Alya and Sabrina provided their fan analysis of the battle in a breathless running commentary, Rose had opened her small laptop, running a series of parallel searches for other incidents or events that might be happening at the same time.

Adrien realized her was gripping the hexagonal box Chloé had given him tightly enough that one of the corners was starting to dig into his palm painfully. The fight had dragged on more than half an hour already. “You’ll know what to do!”, Chloé had told him, right before she disappeared in the rush and confusion. Again.

Something about this simple jewelry box was incredibly important. Adrien bolted from the living room, dashing up the stairs, his departure noted by one pair of observant eyes.

The battle had lasted for most of an hour by now, Alya clasping her hands in front of herself apprehensively, watching as La Coccinelle missed another opportunity to bring down Monsieur Pigeon. Sabrina gasping in anxiety, tears brimming in her eyes, hands in front of her mouth as her hero Hellcat tried valiantly, vainly to bring the confrontation to its conclusion. 

Silence in the room, save for the infrequent clatter of Rose's laptop keyboard.

When the lights of the famous museum started to flicker, the assembled group of friends were filled with an uncomfortable realization they might be witnessing the defeat of their idols.

Alya abruptly sat bolt upright, slapping excitedly on Sabrina’s thigh as a new player entered the arena.

“I know that ass!”, Alya screamed in outraged delight. “I’d recognise that bootie anywhere!”

*-*-*

Chloé’s forehead banged on the ancient coffee table, pizza forgotten.

“Are you kidding me?!” She was mortified that her brother's secret identity had been blown wide open in his first appearance.

Marinette snorted, failing to suppress a infectious giggle that erupted into whoops of laughter from the entire clique. Even Chloé had to chuckle at the utter absurdity of the situation.

Shaking her head in resigned amusement, Chloé got up and went to the kitchen, intending to retrieve a can of soda from the refrigerator. The sound of a kitchen drawer being opened made her look up. Sabrina had followed her, and was now searching for…

“Spoons are in the drawer closest to the stove", Chloé volunteered, can of soda in hand. “I hope you plan to share.”

Sabrina shook her head, jabbing a spoon into the icy dessert, holding the container out to Chloé. “All yours. I know how you love strawberry ice cream.”

Chloé set her drink down, accepting the offering from her oldest friend.

“You can't tell anyone. Ever.”

Sabrina took a deep measured breath before speaking.

“I’ve known you since forever. You’ve put up with me being an insufferable snob for simply ages”, Sabrina nodded. “You stood by me, stood up for me, to me, and half the time I didn’t know how good a friend you really were. Now I find out that you’re…her. The person who saved my life that awful day on the roof.”

Sabrina looked away, cheeks coloring slightly. “You didn’t make fun of me when I showed you my costume. In fact, you complimented me. And you got my head out of the clouds when I was crushing on that awful Felix!” Sabrina met Chloé’s bemused gaze. “And if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have had the guts to approach Luka.”

Chloé smirked. “So you and Spooky's brother…?” 

Sabrina blushed. “Three days, so far”, she confessed shyly.

Chloé sampled the ice cream. Ridiculously delicious. 

“I mean it, ‘Brina. You absolutely can’t tell anyone my, our, secret”, Chloé informed her oldest friend after a moment of gustatory indulgence. “In fact, just you even knowing puts you in danger.”

Sabrina motioned for the spoon, Chloé surrendering it, and Sabrina indulging, just a bit. “I’m gonna pay for this tomorrow”, she grumbled. “Pizza and ice cream?”

“Hooray lactose intolerance…”, Chloé deadpanned.

Sabrina handed the spoon back. “Chloé, I swear, I will never betray you, or Adrien. Or Marinette. None us will.”

‘Remember how many times you betrayed Sabrina?’, a corner of unwelcome memory whispered. “How you hurt and humiliated her?’

The serious, honest look in her eye told Chloé Sabrina wasn’t lying.

Chloé put the ice cream in the freezer, turning to regard her ginger-haired friend. “Thank you.”

Sabrina’s smile was all the reassurance Chloé needed.

Marinette stuck her head into the kitchen. “So are we still gonna smooch with Adrien and Alya, or what?”


	14. PDA

As much as she enjoyed kissing and snuggling with Marinette, Chloé had to admit making out with her in front of multiple witnesses, including her twin brother, felt really, really…weird. If you asked her why, she wouldn’t be able to explain, but she felt that she had to, well, show off a little bit.

Apparently Marinette felt the same way.

They had agreed that they would be in a square, Marinette in front of Chloé, Adrien to Mari's left, and Alya to Chloé's right. They would each kiss their partner before turning and kissing the person beside them. Chloé and Marinette volunteered to go first.

That had been the plan.

Chloé thrilled every time she kissed Marinette, the whisper of strawberries on her lips, running her fingers through silk-soft raven wing black hair, gently tugging her hair ties loose, teasing the fine hair on the back of her neck as Mari whimpered softly, greedily into her mouth, sharing breath, nothing existing but the two of them.

Adrien swallowed hard, his hand clutching Alya’s as they watched the open display of genuine caring and affection. “God…”, he began, his voice a whisper

“…Damn!", Alya finished, awe in her tone. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.

On the couch, Rose and Juleka’s hands were clenched tight, fingers interlocked, both of them panting slightly, cheeks flushed. Sabrina had curled up in a corner of the couch, legs drawn up, peeping guiltily over the edge of a throw pillow, giggling nervously.

Mylène, sitting in the armchair, stared at the screen of her cellphone, studiously, deliberately ignoring the goings on in front of her.

Marinette moaned in faint disappointment as Chloé broke their kiss for a moment, both of them flushed, panting slightly, before Chloé darted back in, stealing another fleeting kiss of those strawberry lips. 

Adrien and Alya’s kiss, while heartfelt, was almost chaste in comparison. Nuzzling, playful, awkwardly intimate, Alya's fingers playing with Adrien’s hair as they leaned foreheads together, whispering softly to each other, gentle pecks becoming lingering kisses. Alya’s gasp as Adrien tugged her glorious mane of auburn ombre hair, exposing her throat as he leaned to kiss and nip the soft skin, Alya clutching him, trembling. Embracing.

Adrien released Alya, and she tugged her t-shirt straight. “Ready?”, he asked Marinette, unsure, one hand on the back of his neck.

“Uh-uh", the blue-nette shook her head, then lunged into an awkward, eyes closed buss on her girlfriend's brother's lips before her nerve broke and she chickened out, yanking Adrien forward by his shirt, catching him off guard, his green eyes wide in shock, his arms snapping out to keep his balance, then hugging Marinette. It was inelegant, but somehow suiting the situation.

A faint smug smile ghosted over Chloé’s lips, blue eyes glancing from beneath pale brows at her brother's paramour. “My turn”, she purred, Alya drawing back slightly at the predatory gleam in Chloé’s eye.

Chloé leaned forward, arms looping around Alya’s neck, right arm descending down her back, left hand cupping the back of Alya's head, fingers combing the mane of auburn ombre hair. Alya gasped, cut off by Chloé’s lips finding hers, a quick teasing peck, tongue flickering, a quiet possessive growl from Chloé as she tasted coffee and cinnamon, a faint tang of salt, inhaling Alya's faint spicy musk, Alya feeling a flutter of longing as Chloé gently nipped her lower lip, Alya going limp, surrendering to the kiss, leaning forward, wanting more as Chloé broke the kiss, drawing back with a trace of a Cheshire cat smile.

Alya blinked, flicked a glanced at Marinette. “You get kissed like that all the time?”

Marinette blushed and giggled, nodding, fingers on her own lips, remembering.

Adrien’s girlfriend shivered slightly. Every time she kissed Adrien she felt a pleasant jolt go straight down her spine. 

“I think I need to change my orientation card…”, Alya muttered. 

Rose cleared her throat delicately, but it was Juleka who spoke. 

“Don’t you think Alya should kiss Marinette?”, Juleka suggested breathily. “I mean, just for completeness.”

Marinette glanced at Chloé, the question in her eyes, Alya blushing, eyebrows raised, smiling inquiringly at Adrien, who shrugged in good-natured agreement. Chloé politely half-bowed, extending her hand, palm up, to Marinette in permission.

The two girls leaned together, each clasping the other's hands, lips meeting for a long, eyes closed moment. Pausing. Leaning back, sighing.

“Adrien?”, Alya inquired hesitantly.

“Mm-hmm?", her boyfriend smiled, green eyes glinting indulgently.

“I think I like girls too.”

“And?”

“You’re okay with that?”, Alya took his hand.

“My sister is gay", Adrien smiled, his free hand behind his head. “So, oui, you being bi is a non-issue. Unlike some others at school, you wont catch me being two faced about it. Oof!”

Sabrina had lobbed the couch's throw pillow at her blonde male host’s head. “Bad Adrien! No biscuit!”, she exclaimed with a grin, Mylène pealing laughter as tension in the room broke.

Juleka excused herself, slender hips swaying as she picked her way through the room, overnight bag in hand, heading upstairs.

Powering up her cellphone for a moment, Rose checked the time. “We should get changed and set up sleeping arrangements”, she suggested, agreed to by several nodding heads. 

“That’s my cue to make myself scarce", Adrien smiled, rising from his knees. 

“Bring down the game console?”, Chloé requested, Adrien flashing a thumbs up as he left the living room.

While the coffee table was being moved, and some of the smaller pieces of furniture rearranged to make space, Mylène helped out by taking the pizza boxes to the kitchen, putting leftovers in the refrigerator. 

Sabrina claimed the high ground of the couch, Mylène making a comfy nest for herself out of the arm chair and ottoman, and sleeping bags or layers of duvets to be shared by couples. 

Adrien almost bumped into Alya who was waiting outside the twin’s bedroom door after he had changed into fleece track pants and a t-shirt, his hands full of gaming console components, Alya with a gym bag slung over her shoulder. She leaned closer, touching foreheads.

“Too bad I can’t sleep in your room…” Alya’s voice was soft with unspoken promise.

Adrien swallowed nervously. “Dad would lose his mind if he caught us…”

A wistful nod in reply. “Can I at least get changed in your room?”

“I’ll go one better", Adrien offered. “Top drawer of the dresser is my t-shirts. Grab one to sleep in. You can keep it if you want. See you downstairs.”

Alya kissed him. “See you in five", she promised.

Adrien arrived in the living room just in time to see Rose stripping off her sweater dress, her back to him.

“Whoops!”, he announced himself, retreating to the kitchen until the coast was clear.

Chloé caught a glimpse of a shiny, bright white line near Rose's hip, to the right of her spine as she arranged pillows for herself and Marinette. “Ouch.”

Rose looked back over her shoulder. “Hmm?”

Chloé nodded, indicating the scar on Rose's back. “Anything we need to worry about?”

Rose's blue eyes went dark. “It’s nothing. Just…family stuff.” Rose tugged her poly-cotton jersey material nightshirt down, covering the scar. Chloé took the not so subtle hint.

After everyone had changed street clothes for nightwear of one description or another, Adrien spent a few minutes setting up the game console and fetching game discs and movies while Alya set up her sleeping bag between Rose and Juleka and Chloé and Marinette.

“Hey, Marinette, you have some of your art supplies with you?”, Alya inquired once everyone had settled in, and the lights had been turned down.

Nodding, Marinette fumbled in her backpack. “A few. What do you have in mind?”

“A purple marker, a blue one, and some clear adhesive tape if you have it", Alya replied.

Marinette handed over the requested items, everyone watching in curiosity as Alya applied one square of tape over her cellphone’s light, carefully coloring the now covered lens in purple ink. Then repeating the process twice more, with one more layer of purple, then blue, then another square of tape, left untouched.

“What…?”, Chloe asked, confused, as Alya activated her cellphone light, creating an eerie metallic violet-blue glow.

“Remember mentioning the funky mark on your face a while ago?”, Alya queried, shining the light on Chloé’s cheek. 

A gasp from Marinette, staring at Chloé.

Alya shifted the light, shining it on Marinette's cheek. A similar, but different mark in the same place, high on the cheekbone, below and to the left of her left eye. “You’ve got one too, Mari.”

The light shifted again. “You too, sunshine boy.”

A quick check revealed they all had the not-quite organic chemistry notation symbols on their cheeks in the same place, each subtly different, but Chloé and Adrien’s almost similar.

“How did you figure out the ultra-violent—”

“Ultra-violet", Marinette corrected Chloé.

“That weird light to see it?”, Chloé finished, ‘hmmph'-ing at Marinette.

Alya shook her head. “I didn’t. You can thank Max. He's a certified genius!” You couldn’t miss the note of pride in her voice when she mentioned her younger brother.

Sabrina sat on the couch, touching her cheek, pensive and uncertain, drawn in on herself. “It’s like we're all barcoded, just goods on a shelf", she mused, unhappy at the idea. 

The thought was disturbing, chilling in its many implications.

“Does everyone have these marks?”, Chloe asked the obvious question, mind racing. “Everyone in Paris? In France? The entire world?”

Mylène raised her hand. “Who put the marks there in the first place?”

“I'm getting really scared", Sabrina whimpered, clutching the pillow she’d thrown at Adrien earlier. “We're just kids, nobodies—”

“We're not ‘nobodies'!”, Chloé snapped. She hated that term, that thought, of being insignificant, ignored. Forgotten. All of her scattered and shifting memories were consistent on that point. “I—we have something incredible at our fingertips, something we can use to find out, to get answers about what is going on, and who is behind it all! We just have to be smart and careful, alright?”

Rose nodded. “We know, well, hope we can trust everyone in this room. Let’s be eyes and ears for our three superheroes, so they can beat whoever is behind the akumas. And all the other weird stuff.”

“Papillion", Chloé said. “His name is Papillion. And he has a Miraculous. He has a plan, but other than having his flunkies try to get Mari's and my Miraculous, no-one can ever figure out what his endgame is.”

“The akuma are distractions", Rose announced, opening her laptop, keys clattering. “The attack tonight confirmed my hypothesis.” She turned the device so everyone could see the screen. 

“I’ve correlated all the akuma attacks, searching for other events that happen at the same time”, she pointed out. “While you two, three now, are out fighting the various akumas, there have been a string of break-ins and robberies, all high value, all very obvious targets. Your ‘Papillion', Chloé, is using the akuma attacks as cover to rob the city.”

Chloé shook her head. “Too simple. Every time before, Papillion has some hidden objective.”

“Before?”, Mylène blinked. “Excuse me?!”

A long sigh from Chloé, dejected. “It’s stupid and complicated, and you wouldn’t believe me.” Marinette put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“You’re a real life superhero, Chloé”, Sabrina said from behind her pillow. “It doesn’t get much weirder than that.”

Marinette weighed in before Chloé could speak. “Chloé has more than one set of memories", she explained. “And after she pointed out that we never see airplanes fly over the city and there's a full moon every night, I started watching too. So maybe she's right, and it all ties together with whoever put the marks on our cheeks.”

“We can’t trust anyone", Alya said in the silence. “Not our parents, not teachers, not anyone not in this room right now.”

Nods of agreement.

“So what now?”, Juleka asked, wrapped in her dark violet satin housecoat.

“Video games", Marinette nodded decisively.


	15. Footloose and Fancy Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, I know it's been a while since I posted a new chapter. Had to climb over a writer's block.

The fluorescent tube over the rust-stained sink in the cramped bathroom flickered into life with a faint rattling buzz, Chloé staring into the peeling mirror with sleep-haunted eyes, fine blonde hair lank and sweat dampened.

When would she be free of these damned echoes of lives she hadn’t lived but could almost remember?

Bright green eyes looked over her right shoulder.

“You alright, kid?” Plagg actually sounded concerned.

Chloé shook her head, clutching the rim of the sink in a white-fingered grip, not trusting herself to speak, afraid that if she did she would start screaming and never stop.

“Cheese always helps me calm down", the spirit of destruction suggested.

Blue eyes glared daggers from the mirror.

Plagg sighed. “Look, kid, I’m tryin' ta help, but ya gotta give me something to work with from your end, alright? Talk to me.”

Chloé stared at Plagg for a long silent moment before speaking, her voice a shaky, hoarse shadow. “I’m tired. I’m so tired. I tried so hard to keep it, us, a secret, and I failed. I always fail. I always let Her down.” Chloé’s lower lip trembled. “He’s going to win again, isn’t he?”

Plagg moved to hover in front of Chloé. “I’m gonna level with ya, kid. I was sure you and Pigtails were gonna be dead meat in short order after you two revealed your identities to each other. But that didn't happen. You let fights go on way longer than they should because you won’t use your power, and you win anyway, only sometimes because of dumb luck. The rest of the time you’re just to damn stubborn to admit when you’re beat.”

“That’s me", Chloé smirked, wistful. “Stupid and spiteful—”

“You're also one of the best partners I’ve ever had", Plagg insisted quietly, cutting Chloé's self-recrimination off before it could get going. “And you’re not stupid. Stupid got a lot of my former partners killed real quick.”

“How many partners have you had?”

“Several.”

“Not helpful.”

“I’m not here to be helpful.”

“What are you here for?”, Chloé scoffed.

“I’m here to eat cheese and kick butt", Plagg smirked. “And I’m all out of cheese.”

Pale blue eyes gazed at cat-slitted green. “You said I wasn’t the blonde you expected the first time we worked together.”

“You knew what a Miraculous was”, Plagg countered.

Impasse.

“You’ve done this before, all of this, before", Chloé nodded. “You knew who you should have been partnered with, you were expecting to see them again.”

Plagg’s silence was confirmation.

“Were they good?”

Plagg's ears and whiskers drooped, his entire demeanour an echo of tragedy. “He was… he was one of a kind. Took to it all like a natural. Fast, smart, daring. He…He was special.”

“What happened?”, Chloé inquired softly, saddened by the expression on the diminutive creature's face.

“His past caught up with him", Plagg sighed. “Papillion caught him. Got him with an akuma.”

“Bad?”

The silent expression of sorrow in Plagg's eyes broke her heart. “He drowned the city in his pain.”

Chloé cupped the ebon spirit in her hands, comforting the tiny being, sharing his loss. “I’m so sorry…”, she whispered. 

Plagg grazed her cheek with a paddle-like paw. “They weren’t all bad, ya know. I think my favorite partner came from what you call Ancient Egypt.”

Chloé raised an eyebrow in curiosity. 

“Yeah”, Plagg smiled, one fang hanging out. “They were the Bast.”

She couldn’t help it. A strained hiccoughing giggle, flowering into gasping laughter.

“Plagg”, Chloé wheezed, scandalized, “You are the worst!”

“That wasn’t too cheesy?”

Still chuckling, Chloé shook her head, switching off the bathroom light, intending to return to her nest beside Marinette.

*-*-*

Perhaps it was because she wasn’t sleeping in her own bed. It could have been the unaccustomed noises of sharing a room with five other people also trying to sleep. She just might have been cold. 

No matter the actual cause, Marinette DuPain-Cheng found herself rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, stumbling into the kitchen, peering at her blonde girlfriend as she sat at the vintage Formica-topped kitchen table, spoon in one hand, cereal bowl in the other, in the dim light of the stove hood.

“What’re you doing?”, Marinette mumbled, still mostly asleep.

A whisper-crunch as Chloé spooned up a bite of what-ever-it-was in the bowl. “M' hungry…”, was the quiet reply.

Marinette grunted acknowledgment, wandering over to the cupboard, legs bare beneath her sleep shirt. When in Rome…

“Why are you up?”, Marinette inquired, looking at the shadowed contents in the cupboard. The can of fruit cocktail would do.

Chloé spooned up another bite. “Bad dreams.”

“Still?” Concern in Marinette’s blue eyes, gone cobalt in the dark. Spoon in hand, she pulled out a chair at quietly as she could, not wanting to wake anyone else.

A blonde nod in the dim light, silent.

Marinette caught a faint scent of the contents of Chloé's bowl, a whisper of caramel or molasses, tomato, and salt.

“What are you eating?”

“Weetabix and tinned beans”, Chloé replied with a shrug. “I didn’t want to wake anyone up by cooking.”

Marinette shuddered, then turned to her own late-night indulgence, the pull-tab opening her fruit cocktail with a click-pop-hiss, the lid tearing away along the pre-scored lines. Picking her spoon, pausing, her expression confused. “What—?”

”Hmm?” Chloé lifted an eyebrow in curiosity, her girlfriend tilting the can so Chloé could see the contents in the dim light from the stove hood.

Almost sky blue, a faint glistening sheen on the surface of the rubbery-looking thick foam or mousse.

“That’s not fruit cocktail in light syrup", Chloé observed, lifting the can to sniff at the contents. “It doesn’t smell like anything.”

The blue-nette hugged herself, shivering slightly, spoon clattering, forgotten on the table. “Okay! That’s it! Officially freaked out!”

*-*-*

Marinette sat up in the warm nest of bedding on the living room floor of her girlfriend’s row-house, bleary, half-asleep, hair disheveled to the point one ponytail had fallen out during the night, her over large tee-shirt slipped to one side, the shifted neck opening now exposing one pale shoulder.

It had taken a while before she’d fallen back asleep after her failed attempt at a midnight snack, shifting several times restlessly until she was able to able to spoon behind Chloé, arm draped over her hip.

Rolling to her feet, stiffer than she expected, Marinette shuffled in the direction of the kitchen, hearing muffled sounds of life, her mouth intolerably dry and pasty.

The linoleum tiles were cold on the soles of her bare feet, the sensation ignored in favor of the goal of the refrigerator, and the promise of cold orange juice to quench her thirst. Sounds, music, faintly registered in her sleep-fogged mind, along with the almost distracting presence of someone shimmying in time to the beat. Another, smaller presence occupied space on the counter.

Carton of citrus ambrosia in hand, Marinette folded back the flaps to open the carton, drinking directly from the pointed spout.

“It lives…”, a perky feminine voice intoned dramatically. Far too early in the morning to be so obnoxiously energetic.

“Coming for you, soon…’Zombinette'!”, a second feminine voice announced in a deliberate lower register.

Refreshed by the orange juice, Marinette abruptly realized Chloé was watching her, a tendril of blonde hair tucked behind her ear. Rose was perched on the countertop, legs crossed at the ankle, grinning cheerfully.

“Uhhh…”, Marinette explained.

Chloé flashed a quick smile, metal spatula in hand. “Breakfast in ten minutes. Pancakes acceptable?”

A mute nod from Marinette, cheeks flaming pink.

“Oh, that’s sanitary…”, Adrien deadpanned as he shuffled into the kitchen, blonde hair sleep tousled, eyeing Rose's choice of seating.

“I’m a very tidy person, I’ll have you know!”, Rose huffed, indignant. “Besides, I’m supervising!”

“God, cheerful morning people. Intolerable", Alya grumbled from behind her boyfriend, embracing him and kissing his shoulder. “Morning, babe…”

Rose ducked as Chloé retrieved plates from the cupboard above her. “Make yourself useful, brother dearest”, she suggested, handing the dishes to Adrien.

The house was a scene of cheerful adolescent chaos when Police Brigadier Andre Bourgeois arrived home from his shift. Blankets and pillows strewn across the living room floor and furniture, video game soundtrack and sound effects competing with fast-paced pop music blaring from the kitchen as Chloé and Adrien, still in their sleepwear danced side by side in perfect rhythm as they tidied up the remnants of feeding the small invading horde that had taken over the residence the night before, a petite blonde girl perched on the counter, one hand on her stomach, the other raised in the air as she sang along with Kenny Loggin's ‘Footloose', shimmying in place as the twins clapped, side cross-stepped and spun in unison, Chloé’s blonde ponytail flying like a flag.

The mayor's daughter, Sabrina Raincomprix, waved a casual smiling greeting from her position in his arm chair, draped across it, legs dangling over the side. “Bonjour!” 

Andre smiled to himself. Whatever the reason, Chloé seemed to have finally grown into herself and her social circle had expanded. So what if she was dating his commander's daughter? As long as his princess was happy. 

“How long until I can take a shower and get some peace and quiet, kids?”, Andre inquired, raising his voice to be heard over the tumult, shrugging out of his duty jacket.

The volume of the music was turned down immediately by the diminutive girl who sat on the counter like a cheerful elf, Chloé turning with a smile.

“An hour?”, Chloé bargained. “We still have to put the living room back in order.”

Andre nodded agreement. “Did you save me any breakfast?”

Adrien fetched a box of pizza from the refrigerator. “Sorry, Dad…”, he grinned, sheepish, placing the box on the table. 

Andre shrugged. He’d had worse meals on the job more times than he cared to think about.

*-*-*

Three couples, Chloé and Marinette, Adrien and Alya, Juleka and Rose, wandered along the sidewalk, holding hands or linking arms according to personal choice, with Sabrina and Mylène flanking them, chatting as they walked, proposing, discarding, and revising plans for the rest of the day and the remainder of the weekend as they made their way in the direction of the Césaire family houseboat.

“So, we jam for an hour, then take a break while I update La Coccinelle Corner", Alya nodded. 

Juleka huffed, blowing a strand of violet-tinted hair out of her eyes. “Just so long as we’re done by three. I have to be home in time to help punch down the dough for tomorrow's baking.”

“Well, as charmingly entertaining as the prospect of listening to twanging and warbling for an hour is, I’ve got to head for home now", Sabrina explained, a playful touch of her former haughtiness in her tone. 

“What Sabrina means to say is that she’s been grafted to her phone, texting Luka non-stop", Mylène teased with a grin. “I think they're planning a date or something.”

“We're just going to be watching a movie!”, the ginger girl exclaimed.

Juleka laughed quietly as the group reached the gangway to the Césaire houseboat. “Mom is not thrilled my brother is dating the daughter of the mayor. She’s worried you’ll give him inappropriate ideas about capitalism.”

“Your mother operates a for-profit private business and pays taxes", Chloé pointed out. “Hardly hard-core anarchism.”

“You know my Mom's an anarcho-socialist”, Juleka argued good-naturedly.

Chloé shrugged. “All above my head. As long as I have something to eat and a place to sleep, I’m good.”

“My sister, the hedonist", Adrien deadpanned.

“Don't be catty, Brother Dearest.”

“Don’t let him bug you", Marinette smirked.

“Aaaand we're punning", Alya groaned. “I’m pulling rank as the only sane person here. Adrien, be good and don’t tease your sister. Chloé, don’t be a bitch.”

“What about me?”, Marinette batted her eyelashes innocently at Alya.

Alya paused. Waving a finger between Adrien and Chloé, then pointed at Marinette. “You two keep that one out of trouble.”


End file.
